


Captivity

by Hogwhorets



Category: mark fischbach - Fandom, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Captivity, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-07-27 02:25:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 46,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7599853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hogwhorets/pseuds/Hogwhorets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You aren't really sure how long you've been here. Weeks, months, maybe even a year? To this point, he's never let you out of the house, hardly even out of the basement, but something's changed. Your captor is beginning to give you a few privileges, and through those small opportunities, you happen to encounter the one person that might help you escape - your gregarious and concerned neighbor, Mark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was dark. It was always dark - you'd become so well accustomed that the slightest sliver of light felt as though it was burning holes in your retinas. The ground was dirty, too, but it was always dirty. The bed was always creaky. The room was always cold. The air was always suffocating. Your wrists were always bound. Most of all, you were always scared. Scared or numb, your two emotional extremes. There was no room for anything else.

The sound of the door opening at the top of the stairs incited the same feeling one got from a high-pitched alarm in the early hours of the morning. More often than not, his appearances made you retreat into yourself, closing your eyes and pretending you were somewhere else. You didn't give him the satisfaction of tears anymore, and god, had you learned your lesson with challenging him. There were fields of bruises and healing scars all over your body that served as little warnings, little reminders. Never your face, though - he'd learned after the first few weeks of your imprisonment that it was easier to explain when people inevitably knocked on his door.

It's not as though anyone suspected him. How could they? He was Harvard educated, a lawyer, with a wife and kids that lived in Chicago. This was just his West Coast retreat, his small slice of suburbia in the urbanized hills of Los Angeles. How could one approach such a picket-fence facade and call it just that? No, he maintained his cover well.

You hadn't been the only one, either. There had been another, younger and much more frail than you, but she'd disappeared a couple of weeks ago. Her name had been...something with an 'A.' God, you couldn't even remember. But it wasn't your fault, he didn't like it when you talked. Over the course of your captivity, you and the other girl had exchanged what little snippets of conversation you could fit between sobs.

_Amanda._ That had been it. Her last name was a mystery, but you knew other things about her. She was from Maine, a small-town girl. He'd taken her while she was visiting friends, the summer before her freshman year at Standford. She'd been alone, and intoxicated. She'd been here for so long that she'd forgotten her birthday. She thought she might have been 21.

_She'd been here for years._ The thought was sickening - you weren't sure how long it had been, either, but you had a few mildly reliable ways to tell. It was gross, but you'd gone through your menstrual cycle four times since coming here, and though you had a record of irregularities, it should've added up to around five months.

His footsteps were heavy on the floorboards as his shoes came into sight - he never wore his dress shoes into the basement. The few times you'd been upstairs, you'd noticed that he always replaced them for work boots. His usual button up and dress shirt became a ratty t-shirt and jeans. His styled hair became disheveled and his collected eyes became somewhat crazed. He was a different person when he was with you, and no matter how numb you became, he never failed to terrify you.

Sometimes, he liked to play a sick game.

"Let's go." His gruff voice was pulling at the bindings on your wrists, tugging you off of the bed and toward the stairwell. You could barely keep your eyes open - the light filtering down the stairs was blinding, and you felt the inevitable sheet of tears welling up in your eyes. Partially because of the pain, and partially because of what was coming.

The second he'd dragged you up the stairs, he shoved you onto the couch and gave you a look that meant, 'Stay put.' He was gone for mere minutes, and when he returned, he had a brush in one hand, and two thick metal collars in the other. He stood next to you, roughly tugging the brush through your matted locks. He always groomed you before this game - if people saw how dirty you'd been before, they'd have known something was wrong.

When he felt that you looked well enough, his hard gaze fell on yours, motioning for you to lean back. "Raise them up."

Shakily, you lifted your legs into the air, watching with brave tears in your eyes as he secured one of the metal collars around each of your thighs. He secured them tightly enough that you couldn't free yourself of them and smiled that sick, twisted smile of his.

"Let's go."

He tugged you by your arm, his fingers digging into the marks left by previous abuse, almost like markers for where to put them. You winced, but you knew better than to make any noise. He shoved you towards the sliding back door, eyes trained on the back of your head. Steadily, you made your way towards it, every bone in your body heavy with dread. The nightgown he dressed you in fell low enough on your thighs to cover the collars, hiding the evidence from any curious eyes.

The second you were on the porch, he shut the door behind you, pulling a small remote from his pocket. He motioned for you to sit in the lawn chair, and you did so, happy that your back was to him so that he didn't see the silent tears streaming down your face. This was his favorite game - the braces around your thighs were shock collars, programmed in a way that if you left his property boundary, they would deliver painful jolts that incapacitated you and prevented you from making any attempt at escape. He always faced the lawn chair so that you could see the valley below, with the bustling streets and business, full of witnesses that were just far enough not to hear you.

When he went out of town to return to his family, he let you have free roam of the house. He had his ways of maintaining his presence, however - there were cameras, everywhere, and he left the collars on not only your thighs, but your neck as well. You'd made the mistake of trying to escape in his absence only once, and you'd been outcold for hours. He'd punished you well enough when he'd returned, leaving you with the parting gift of a few fractured ribs and finger-like bruises around your throat. Those were his favorite types of 'gifts.'

You were shaking so badly that you were scared he'd see from the window. When you turned to look, however, you could see that he wasn't there any longer. Often, he left you to your sick misery in favor of watching a football game, as if he wasn't electrocuting a prisoner in his backyard.

Something was odd about this time, though - there was unusual noise coming from the neighbor's yard, though you couldn't see anything over the privacy fence. You could hear men cheering, and a dog barking. Suddenly, there was a loud shout, and a foreign object came sailing over the fence.

You were _terrified._ If someone tried to retrieve it, you'd be punished for it, surely. Once, you'd interacted with a delivery man through the window, and your captor had beaten you bloody and chained you to a cement block in the basement for a week. You'd been sure he'd kill you.

Your shoulders were quivering, and your silent tears had built once more, the terror of this possible encounter too much for you to swallow. When fingers appeared at the top of the fence, you felt your breath catch, and you closed your eyes, trying to escape to that place.

"Hey, sorry." It was a man's voice, and when you looked up, he was leaning over the top of the fence. "My friend's an idiot."

You noticed little more than his flaming red hair, and you were so lost in your own terror that your parched lips wouldn't move.

"I hate to interrupt anything, like I said, I'm sorry." He sounded slightly concerned. "Could you hand me that?"

He pointed to the object on the ground, and you felt panic immediately seize your veins and hold them captive. You couldn't respond. If you spoke to him, or acknowledged him, you'd pay. You'd _die._ This was the closest you'd every been to human interaction while with him, and you knew that if you acted on your desperation, he may very well kill you.

"Please?" The guy asked, quirking a brow. Maybe you _did_ have to say something, to throw him off. He couldn't ask questions. You couldn't afford nosy neighbors.

"I can't." Your voice was a hoarse croak, but he seemed to understand. His brow furrowed, eyes following you as you stood up abruptly. You could feel the faint kiss of electricity on your skin, and when you looked over, you could see your captor's faint silhouette through the window. He was watching, calculating. Seeing if you'd give in and plead for help, or obey.

"I'm sorry... _can't?_ Are you okay?" The guy on the fence was standing upright now, clearly standing on something that you couldn't see.

Your tears were so hot they blurred your vision and smeared any details. You refused to look at him, and it was the most painful thing you'd done. The electricity was buzzing, slowly increasing, daring you to say 'no.'

"I'm fine," You tried your best reassuring tone, but he didn't seem to buy it. "I can't help you." You bee-lined for the glass door, watching as your captor slowly began to peel it open, allowing you inside.

"Wait!" The red-haired guy called, adjusting his glasses. "Are you sure? You don't seem-"

" _I can't help you,"_ you pleaded, shooting him a small, helpless look before you slipped inside, shutting the door behind you.

There was a _crack,_ and suddenly your cheek was aflame and you tasted blood.

"You dumb bitch," Your captor hissed, "You shouldn't have said a word."


	2. Chapter 2

"Sweetheart."

You shrunk back immediately, cradling your face with gentle fingers. Blood was pooling in your palm, dripping incessantly from where he'd split your cheek. He hadn't hit your face in months, and you'd almost forgotten the sting of white-hot pain that it brought.

"Baby," He cooed again, reaching for you. He'd cornered you in the kitchen, and you couldn't very well barge past him. When his fingers brushed your face, you flinched, your eyes blurring with hot, mournful tears. You were still riddled with terror, and his sudden change in mood was enough to make you feel sick to your stomach.

" _Please,"_ You whispered, your voice hoarse and broken. You squeezed your eyes shut, wishing that you could abandon this body he had tainted and rid yourself of your bruised, fractured skin.

"Shhh," His arms were around your waist, pulling you into his chest. You knew that if you struggled, you'd anger him, and your left eye was already throbbing with such fury that each tear free from its presence felt like a dagger to your skin. He was petting your hair, whispering soft, unintelligible things. Every rasp of his voice added to the settling numbness in your limbs.

Just as he was reaching for your face, you heard a knock from the front door. It was loud, three staccato raps. You nearly jumped out of your skin, and his tightened grasp told you he was equally as surprised. He wouldn't have time to shove you back into the basement, and as he stuttered in his panic, the knocks occurred again.

"Stay here." He commanded, giving you such a hard look that it sliced through any ideas you might have had. Not that you really had them anymore - you'd learned within the first two weeks of being here how determined he was to have you stay, and any and every attempt at escape had ended painfully for you. When he wasn't beating you, he was teasing you with visions of freedom, or leaving you to starve, chained to that cement brick in the basement. Every now and then, he'd find his way to your bed and take you, always angry that you weren't responsive. That was when you'd first discovered that 'safe place,' the retreat behind your eyelids, the randeveau to escape the horror.

You peered timidly around the corner, trying your best to see who was at the door. His form was blocking the entire frame, but you recognized the voice that filtered in.

"Hi, I'm Mark. I live next door." He seemed as though he was fumbling for words, acting on impulse.

You felt the terror coming back - what if he knew something was wrong? What if he was suspicious? God, no, _please,_ no. _Please keep moving. Please leave. Please go home. Please, please, please._

It was almost pathetic that what might have offered you a sliver of hope months ago was the very subject of your undoing.

~

**MARKS POV**

He'd seen the man that answered the door before - the occasional exchange of 'hello's' at the mailbox, the small greetings in the driveway, the drive-by wave. He'd never been able to figure out just what the man did, or why he'd disappear every few weeks and return home.

But he'd never seen the girl. In all of his time here, and all of these neighborly exchanges, he'd never seen her before. When he'd asked Ryan and Matt the night before, they'd had similar conclusions. Ryan, however, had mentioned that he'd seen her sitting in the lawn chair before. His bedroom window was adjacent to their yard, and he claimed that she always did the same thing - walked outside, tentatively, as if she were scared, sat down and stared at the valley for long periods of time, and quickly escaped inside again. None of them had ever seen her leave the house, even when the man disappeared for weeks on end.

Mark knocked again, three short raps. He was determined to get an answer, and he was silently hoping it was her. She'd seemed so terrified when he'd spoken to her, and her appearance had been alarmingly...unkempt. Not as if she were just a slob, but as if she were incapable of keeping up with it.

The door opened, and the familiar man was standing in the doorway. Mark had to feign a friendly expression to mask his disappointment.

"Hi, I'm Mark. I live next door." He tried to say his words clearly and remain collected. He extended a hand, and the man grasped it firmly.

"Roger. Roger Fisher." His smile was friendly enough, but there was something unsettling about it. Mark couldn't help but notice the way he flinched when he squeezed his hand, and when he trailed his gaze down, he took note of the splotchy bruises that littered Roger's split knuckles.

Roger followed his eyes and quickly retracted his hand, tucking it into his pocket. "What can I do for you?"

Mark froze, cursing himself internally for not being more prepared for this encounter. "I was playing a game with some friends and a few of our arrows went over into your yard. Do you mind if I retrieve them really quick?" He felt as though he was visibly sweating, but Mark had no doubt it was just the pressure of playing things cool. If his suspicions were correct - not that he knew enough to make an _intelligent_ conclusion - his being obvious would only make the situation worse.

Roger interrupted his thoughts. "Sure thing." He said, directing Mark around the corner. "You can get in through the side gate, just make sure that you close it behind you."

Mark smiled his thanks and quickly made for the side yard, inconspicuously trying to study the windows for any sign that might confirm his thoughts. There was nothing but heavy curtains and dirty glass. When he let himself in through the gate, he couldn't help but notice the worn lawn chair, exactly where she'd left it. Mere feet from it were the two arrows that had gone over the fence.

When Mark bent to pick them up, he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. She was standing a few feet from the glass door, just close enough that he was able to make her out against the dark room behind her. He shielded his eyes with his hand, and that's when he noticed her face - she was bleeding, and her right eye was swollen and bruised, as if she'd been beaten.

He felt sick to his stomach - had that been his fault? He'd seen her almost half an hour ago, and she hadn't had that injury. Not to mention, it had seemed as though talking to him terrified her. " _I can't."_ She'd kept saying, and only now did he realize that maybe it wasn't _her_ preventing the conversation.

Quickly, he grabbed the arrows and made his way out of the yard, being sure to close it behind him. 


	3. Chapter 3

**MARK**

It had been a week since he'd knocked on Roger's door, and he hadn't seen her since. Not once had she come outside, or stood in a window. He'd only seen Roger leave once, and he'd been bad within the hour, as if worried that something might happen while he was away.

All of this is why Mark was so shocked when he saw Roger putting a suitcase in his trunk. He'd gone to take Chica for a walk, mostly to let her exercise and clear his own thoughts. Roger hadn't noticed him, thankfully, and had peeled out of the driveway almost immediately after getting in. He was in a hurry, clearly, but Mark couldn't fathom why. Did that mean that he'd left the girl there alone?

_She wasn't in the car, and he only had one suitcase._

Mark fumbled absently with his keys, trying to unlock the door, all the while peering around the corner at Roger's house. It was dark inside, and it definitely looked like nobody was home. 

When he got inside, he let Chica off of the leash and headed into the kitchen, tucking her harness away into the coat closet. He poured himself a cup of coffee and braced his free hand against the counter by the sink, studying what bit of the house he could see through the window. He was ready to give up when he saw a small bit of movement - there was the faint outline of a face peering through the window opposite of him, but when she noticed him, she quickly closed the curtains.

He set his coffee down, feeling a chill settle over his skin. Did Roger leave her there by herself? He thought back to all of the times he'd seen Roger leave - sometimes he was gone for a week at a time, and never once had he or anyone he'd asked seen her leave the house. Surely she wasn't left to starve.

Mark was watching the curtain closely, but it didn't move again. An hour had passed before he was able to pull himself away.

~

It had been two days, and Roger hadn't come back, nor had she left the house. Mark was practically pulling his hair out. He felt obsessed and crazed with concern. Was it misplaced? He didn't think so, he'd seen how beaten she'd looked before, and he'd been witness to how terrified she was, in her own backyard.

It was Tuesday, and it was the second time he'd knocked on the door. No one answered, but he'd heard footsteps inside, loud and retreating. His heart had sunk, but he'd gone home, promising to keep trying.

On Wednesday, he knocked again, this time lingering longer. He thought he might've seen her through the window next to the door, but she was gone as soon as she'd appeared, like a timid dog.

Thursday, he refused to go home without _some_ sort of response. People had begun to notice how distraught with worry he was, even his fans. He'd been posting pre-recorded videos so that he had more time to watch the house, and people had begun to wonder if he was out of town or in desperate need of a break. He'd tried to reassure them many times, but they wouldn't let it go. Ryan and Matt had even started coming to check up on him, and he figured the two had caught on to the source of his stress. They also seemed concerned, but no matter what he said, they offered rationalizations and tried to see the best in Roger.

He'd been sitting on the porch for twenty minutes now, and almost didn't notice the door open. Mark immediately stood up, staring intently at the four-inch sliver of space between the door and the frame. "Hi," He said softly.

She was peeking out just enough to see him, and that little bit of her face was all that he could see of her.

"Please go away," She whispered, her voice shaky. He noticed that her eyes were welling with tears and began to regret his decision.

"I'm just trying to make sure that you're okay." He breathed, rubbing his hands nervously on his pants. "I saw you through the door when I came to get my arrows, and your eye, and..." He stared down at his feet, his shoulders heavy. "I just-"

"I'm fine." She was whispering, but there was a firmness to her voice that gave him pause. She was very adamant about making him leave, and he thought he knew why.

"No, you're not, are you?" He didn't mean to pry, or get into other people's business. It wasn't like him. It never had been. More often than not, he stuck to himself and his friends and didn't give things much thought. But, on the flipside, he cared too deeply for people and his prime goal in life was to make it better for other people. He couldn't just sit by and let something terrible happen, particularly to someone so seemingly vulnerable as she was. "Did he do that to your eye?"

She started to shut the door on him, but he braced his weight against it. "Please," He said, "Let me help."

She was crying silent tears now, bravely trying to close the door despite his efforts to stop her. He wouldn't stop, not until he had some answers.

"Please, leave." The broken way she said the words was nearly enough to make him listen. He felt so terrible, putting her through this, but he truly thought that he could help if she would just _let_ him. " _Please._ He'll be mad."

She was so quiet, as if trying to keep someone from hearing. When Mark looked past her, over her head, he caught sight of a little black square in the corner of the wall. _A camera._ His heart lurched to his throat - he had to get her out of here, or he feared what Roger would do to her when he came back.

"I'm not asking you to leave," He said softly, as if speaking with a cornered animal. "Just open the door and talk to me. I'll leave, I promise, just talk to me."

He wouldn't leave, but he had to ration with her. Mark was standing there for what felt like hours, watching the way her quiet tears hit her cheeks, when she shut the door. He felt the defeat settle on his shoulders, weighing him down as-wait, the handle was turning. This time, she opened the door all the way, and Mark felt his breath leave his body.

Her right eye was swollen so badly that he was surprised she could open it. Her cheekbone was split, and she had dried blood smeared along her jaw. Her hair was a mess, and her dress was dirty and torn. What he could see of her body was unnervingly skinny, but that wasn't the worst part. Around her neck was a thick, black band that he immediately recognized. It was a shock collar.

"Is that how he keeps you here?" He asked tenderly, eyes wide in disbelief.

She was sobbing, her head bobbing upside down. "Yes," She choked, fingers tentatively touching the little black box. She lifted her dress just enough to show that there were two matching bands around her thighs, so tight that the skin was slightly purple. How long had those been on?

Mark sighed angrily. "And he watches you?"

She flinched, looking over her shoulder. "They're everywhere," She whispered, fingers fumbling with the collar around her neck. It was so degrading, and it made him angry. He couldn't fathom the things Roger had done to her. Most people, he figured, would be taking any opportunity to escape. How had her captor broken her in such a way that she'd rather suffer than try?

Mark shoved his hands into his pockets, chewing on his lip. He had to do something, and now he knew for sure that she was in trouble. More trouble than he probably knew. "Where did he go?"

She didn't seem like she wanted to answer, but he could tell that she knew. After a few moments of staring at her feet, she looked up at him. "Home."

His blood was boiling again. "Have you tried getting those things off?" He motioned to her neck, furrowing his brows.

She nodded. "A few times. I got them off, too, so he put a special lock on it."

"What about cutting through it?"

She looked defeated. "He doesn't keep anything sharp in the house. He shocks me if he catches me looking."

Mark sighed. The way she kept talking gave him pause. "How long have you been here?"

There were tears in her eyes again, and the way she said her next sentence was enough to break his heart. "I don't know," She mumbled, wiping furiously at her eyes. She winced when she touched the swollen eye and dropped her hand to her chest.

Suddenly, her eyes were wide with terror, and she began frantically trying to shut the door. Mark braced his hand against it, confused. She shoved her weight against it, crying hysterically. "Shut it!" She pleaded, " _Please,_ shut it! Please!"

Mark tried to say something, but she cut him off with a string of terrified slurs, motioning to the camera in the corner. It was blinking red. Mark was about to let her shut him out when she screamed, hands flying to her neck. Within seconds, she hit the ground, her limbs convulsing. He quickly stepped inside, trying his best to help her, but she couldn't seem to hear him.

"Fuck," He hissed, "Fuck, fuck, _fuck."_

He pulled out his phone, dialing 911. The operator's voice had barely hit his ears before he was yelling, giving them the address and trying his best to sum up what had happened. "I don't know what happened, please, hurry." He was breathing rapidly, trying his best to keep from sinking into his own panic. "She stopped convulsing and now she's just laying there, what do I do?" He felt for her pulse - it was there, but very faint. "God, what do I _do?"_

" _Sir, I'm going to need you to calm down. Help is on the way."_ The operator paused. " _Does she have a pulse?"_

Mark nodded, as if she could see it. "Yeah, it's there."

" _Okay, now I need you to grab something to elevate her feet, maybe a pillow. Are there any pillows around?"_

He looked around frantically, grabbing a pillow from the couch with his free hand. Carefully, he lifted her feet, sliding it under. "Okay, I did it."

" _Now, be sure that you don't move her until help arrives. Does she have any tight clothing on?"_

Mark eyed her dress, shaking his head. "No, she's just wearing a dress." His skin paled. "Well, she has these things around her legs. Shock collars. Her neck, too."

Despite the horror behind his statement, the operator remained calm. " _You need to remove them. Anything that is constricting is a threat to her health."_

He remembered what she'd said about the lack of sharp objects in the house, so frantically, he pulled out his keychain. He had a small pocketknife - it wasn't sharp, but hopefully it would serve its purpose. Carefully, he pried the band on her right leg up enough to wedge the knife under it, sawing delicately back and forth. After a short effort, the band finally snapped, revealing the bruised skin underneath. He shuddered, but moved to the next leg, determined to get these off of her. It also came free, and underneath it looked the same.

The collar on her neck was easier to remove simply because it was looser, but the band was thicker. When he'd gotten it off, he tossed it to the side in disgust. Her neck wasn't purple, but there was an alarming spot under her right ear - the skin was a blend of red and purple, swollen, and in the center were two, bright red circles. When he looked at the collar, he realized that the spot was from where the metal prongs had been digging into her skin.

"Okay, I'm done." He pressed the phone back to his ear, his fingers trembling. He could hear sirens, faintly, but he wished that they were closer.

_"Okay, good job. Feel her skin, is it cold?"_

He did as he was told, pressing his fingers to her wrist. _God, she's ice cold._ "Yes, she's freezing."

" _Get a blanket and cover her with it."_

He grabbed the throw from the back of the couch and draped it across her body, tucking it in at her sides. "I did it."

_"Can you hear sirens?"_

He could, and they sounded much closer now. Just down the road, if he could trust his ears. "Yeah, I think they're almost here."

_"Okay, I need you to watch her very closely and keep your fingers on her pulse. If it disappears, immediately begin to deliver CPR. Are you certified?"_

"Yes, I am," He breathed, doing as the operator said. "Will she be okay?"

There was a pause, and he heard a long breath. " _As long as she is breathing and her pulse is steady, she has a chance."_

He let out a small sigh of relief. Suddenly, he felt hands on his shoulders, pushing him out of the way. 

"What happened?" There was a voice above him, and when he looked up, the room was filled with paramedics. They were shifting her carefully, checking for her pulse and listening to her breath. 

"She was electrocuted." He pointed to the collar on the ground, all three of them. One paramedic picked them up with his gloved hands, sliding them into a bad.

They were putting her on a gurney now, gentle fingers supporting her head and bandaging her neck. Mark watched on helplessly as they wheeled her out towards the car, trying his best to pull himself up off of the ground. Cops had arrived, too, and a small group were approaching him with concern and curiosity plastered on their faces.

As the ambulance rolled away and he was asked to recount the events that had taken place, Mark felt a small swell in his chest. He was absolutely terrified for her life, and he couldn't help but feel responsible. _I should've just walked away. I should've stopped persisting. I could've called the cops from my house._

If she died, he'd feel personally responsible.


	4. Chapter 4

Everything hurt. Your limbs were heavy and unresponsive, and no matter how hard you tried to peel back your eyelids, they wouldn't listen. You could just barely hear a faint beeping and hushed whispers, but it was impossible to hear what they were saying. You tried your best to force your eyes open, and after countless attempts, a small weight lifted. When they finally rolled opened, you were immediately washed in hospital lights. It took a few sluggish blinks to adjust, and when you did, you took notice of the bright smile that was inches from your face.

"Hello, sweetheart." The nurse's expression was a blend of emotions, anywhere between concern and pity, battling for the primary spot. The pet name made you flinch and recoil, but she seemed to take notice. "I'm sorry. How do you feel?"

You weren't sure. Every part of your body was either numb or plagued by a dull throb, which is exactly what you told her. She wrote it down on the clipboard in her hands, nodding.

"Do you feel well enough to answer some questions?"

Her question really made things sink in. Come to think of it, you weren't exactly sure where you were. It looked like a...a hospital room? God, what had happened? Suddenly, panic gripped you, and you shot straight up. Your body immediately punished you for the sudden movement, sending ripples of searing pain up your spine and into your head. You whimpered, allowing the nurse to push you back into the mattress.

"Yes...," You whispered, squeezing your eyes shut. "Where am I?"

"You're in the hospital. You suffered a pretty severe shock." She set her clipboard down and sat on the edge of your bed, placing her hand gently over yours.

"What about-?"

"You don't have to worry any more, darling." She was speaking gently, and it soothed you. "You're very lucky. If your neighbor hadn't found you, we aren't sure what might've happened to you." Hesitantly, she brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You couldn't help but feel tears burn your eyes - you hadn't experienced a kindness like this in a long time, and the motherly way she was going about things made a warm feeling blossom in your chest. "Your captor's name is Roger Fisher. He was taken into custody late this morning in Chicago, Illinois. He is currently being charged with...," She trailed off, shooting you an apologetic smile. "I'm sure you know."

"How long have I been here?" You asked, furrowing your brows. You shifted your head and immediately whimpered, a blinding pain shooting out of your neck. Tentatively, you brought your fingers up, relieved by absence of a collar. Instead, there was a bandage.

"A couple of days. You were picked up by an ambulance two nights ago."

"Have I been out that long?" You couldn't help but notice the worry in your own voice.

"No, honey, no." She smiled softly. "You've been in and out of consciousness, mostly slurred mumbles and brief episodes of panic. Nothing very coherent. It's not surprising that you don't remember." She grabbed the clipboard again, flipping through the pages. "Would you mind answering the questions now?"

"No, go ahead." You looked up at her, all the while trying to move your fingers. They responded, somewhat.

"What is your name?"

You gave it to her, brow furrowed.They'd been caring for a Jane Doe all this time?

"Age?"

"Twenty four." You thought, at least. "Wait, what's today's date?"

She frowned, looking concerned. "May twentieth."

You felt your heart sink. "Twenty five."

She gasped, giving your hand a comforting squeeze. Glancing down at her paper again, she wrote a few things, and returned her gaze to yours. "Can you give a rough estimate of when you were abducted?"

You tried to filter through your memories, and it wasn't hard. That night was forever etched into the back of your eyelids. "The weekend after Thanksgiving." You remembered it clearly - you'd been out with friends, and you'd had too much to drink. You'd been stumbling around, unsure of where you were, and you'd tried to get into the driver's seat of your car. He'd been so kind, keeping you from making poor decisions, and he'd offered to drive you home. You could've picked your car up in the morning, he'd promised. He'd take you where you needed to go, he'd said. And you'd followed him, intoxicated and unaware of his real intentions.

She looked at you with a disgusted expression, lips pressed grimly together. "I am so sorry," She murmured, writing down your response. When she finished, she tucked the clipboard under her arm and leaned down, placing a kiss on your forehead. You flinched, shrinking away from her touch, and she seemed to understand. "You should try and get more rest. You have a bit of healing left to do."

You nodded, settling further down into the heavy blankets. You were cold, but they helped greatly, and it wasn't long before you drifted off into a weary slumber.

~

When you woke up again, it was dark outside. It took a few moments to gather your bearings, and you almost didn't notice the guy sitting in the chair next to your bed. His face was buried in his arms, which were crossed over one another on the edge of your bed. He was clearly asleep, but the bright red tuft on top of his head was enough to give away his identity.

When you tried to get up, it hurt like hell, forcing an audible groan from your lips. He sat up almost immediately, rubbing groggily at his eyes. For a few uncomfortable seconds, he just stared at you in disbelief, his tired eyes studying your face. "Hi," He said quietly, voice swallowed by fatigue. He had giant bags under his eyes, and his stubble was a little out of control. _How long has he been here?_

"Hello," You responded, voice hoarse. Your throat was sore, but moving your head hurt a little less than it had this morning. 

"How are you feeling?" He asked. He was speaking in a way that almost made it seem like he was worried that if he spoke too loudly, you'd recoil and stop responding.

"Like hell, but better." You offered a croaky laugh, and he seemed to be relieved by the sound.

"That's good." He looked down at his hands. "I was... _really_ worried there, for a little while."

You didn't bother trying to reassure him. "Me too." It was all you said, but it was enough to make him lift his gaze back to yours. You both sat in silence for a little while before you found the courage to add anything. "Thank you."

"Don't," He said softly, looking away, "It's my fault you're in here."

You frowned, confused. "Your fault?" You shook your head adamantly, "I'm relieved to be here."

He looked over at you, also frowning. "In a hospital, with severe shock wounds?"

You just nodded. "Believe me, anything is better than... _there."_

He looked at you knowingly, resting his chin on his hands, which were clasped together. His elbows rested on the edge of your bed, inches from your hip. "I'm so sorry," He gushed suddenly, rubbing his hands over his face. He looked so distraught, but you weren't sure why. "I should've butted out of it and left when you asked me to. I could've called the police from my house, and maybe he wouldn't have hurt you, if I'd just stopped-"

You cut him off, unable to listen to this any longer. "He would've hurt me regardless of what you did," You murmured, looking down at your own hands. You tried your best to move it again, and this time, you were actually able to lift it. "Would you look at that?" You hadn't meant to change the subject, but you couldn't help the prideful feeling in your chest.

He looked confused. "Were you not able to move it?"

"Barely." You used your new ability to brace your hands against the mattress, pushing yourself up into a sitting position. It was difficult and very painful, evident in the small grunts that rolled off your lips.

"No, stop, don't strain yourself." He grabbed for a remote next to the hospital bed, pressing a button on the top section. The bed made a noise and started to incline, straightening your back out the way you'd intended.

"Thanks." You offered a small smile, and couldn't help but notice his eyes shift down to your lips. He was clearly thinking about something, but he seemed to rid himself of the thought, looking back up at you. "What?"

"What do you mean?" He seemed caught off guard by your question.

"What did you think, just now?"

"Oh, I, uh..." He scratched sheepishly at his head. "I was just wondering how long it's been since you've smiled." He looked... _sad?_ A soft kind of sad, like he was thinking back on a bad memory.

"A while, if that answers your question." You felt for the bandage on your neck again, surprised at how large it was. "What happened here?"

He chewed at his lip. "Well, when he shocked you, the voltage was way too high for someone your size. You blacked out immediately, and it left some pretty bad marks on your neck. Burns, I guess?"

You frowned, lowering your hands back to your lap. "Well shit."

"Did he...usually shock you that bad?" He didn't look like he wanted to ask, but somewhere he'd found the courage.

"Not _that_ bad." You released a shaky sigh, looking over at him. "He wouldn't usually turn the neck brace up that high. Just enough to serve it's purpose. The leg braces...they were usually pretty high. I wouldn't be able to walk."

He looked angry, almost. "I can't believe someone could be so cruel." He was silent for a second, rubbing his hands over his face. He ran a few fingers through his hair, staring down at his shoes. "What's your name?"

You hadn't been expecting that question. "Hm?"

"I realized earlier that I'd gone all of this time without asking you your name." He looked at you, and you realized that you didn't actually know his name, either.

"Oh, um..." You offered a small smile. "It's (Y/N)."

"I'm Mark." He reached forward, grasping for your hand. After giving it a small shake, he set it back in your lap and sighed. "They told me about your family."

You swallowed, hard. "What about them?"

"You don't have anywhere to go, do you?" He was looking at you with an expression you couldn't place. You were fumbling for words, unsure of how to respond but desperate to end this conversation as soon as it had started. His words cut your thoughts short. "They said your only living relative was your aunt, but she's declined every call. No one even know who you were, for days, and we still really don't."

You weren't sure what to say. "Can't say I'm surprised." He frowned. "About my aunt, I mean."

Mark didn't focus on that, as you'd hoped he would. "Where were you staying before?"

"Around." You _really_ didn't want to go into details right now.

He didn't seem to like your answer at all. "Do you have any plans for once they let you go?"

For some reason, his question struck you in a fragile place. Your throat tightened and you cast your gaze down, your eyes suddenly hot. "No, I..." You mumbled, fiddling with your thumbs. "I haven't thought about it."

His face sunk with realization. "You didn't think you would get out, did you?"

You shook your head, biting your lip to keep it from quivering. As the tears began escaping your lids, he stood, wrapping his arms gently around your shoulders. He didn't say a word, didn't offer any pity, he just held your face to his chest and made soft "shh" sounds. You wanted to recoil from his touch, _tried_ to, but he wouldn't let you go until you'd stopped shaking.

"Don't worry about it," He murmured, finally settling back into his seat. He was looking at you with concerned intent, his hands clasped together and knee bouncing. "We can figure things out when you're better."

"We?" You were confused.

"Well, seeing as how they didn't have an emergency contact for you, I volunteered. Not that it was really necessary, I didn't go anywhere."

"You've been here this _whole time?"_ You asked, raising a brow at him. Why would he do something like that for a total stranger?

"Well, I've been home to let the dog out and change clothes, but yes, mostly." He sighed, looking over at the bench across the room. You followed his gaze, taking notice of the makeshift bed for the first time. "I felt responsible."

"Mark, I told you-"

"I know," He said firmly, waving his hands in a way that erased your sentence. "I know what you said, but I can't just _let go_ of it. It's not that easy." He stood, walking around the bed and grabbed the edge of a small cart. "Here, they brought food a little while ago." He rolled the cart over the edge of your bed, lifting the lid off of the tray. It was average hospital food, but right now, it looked delicious. "Go ahead."

Hesitantly, you grabbed for the fork, taking a small bite of mashed potatoes. The flavor exploded on your tongue, making your close your eyes.

He was laughing, and when you looked, he'd returned to his seat. "I've never seen someone enjoy mashed potatoes so much."

You smiled sheepishly. "They're one of my favorites." You recounted all of the times you'd made a meal-sized portion of them instead of preparing a  _real_ meal, simply because they were easy and absolutely amazing. 

"Good to know." He sat back, arms crossed, and watched you with a small smile. "I'd like to ask you something, and I hope you'll hear me out." You raised a brow at him, chewing thoughtfully on your food, and motioned for him to continue. "Well, seeing as how you have nowhere to go and I'm your emergency contact, I was going to offer you my spare bedroom. Yes, it might be a little forward, but I don't like the thought of you leaving here and going back to living 'around.'"

You were shocked, to put it lightly. Here was this man, who had not only come to your aid and freed you, but named himself your emergency contact and stayed by your side by two days, and now he was inviting you to live with him? How could someone have so much faith in you?

"Just think about it, okay? I know it might seem like a big adjustment, and-"

"Okay." You set your fork down, watching as his expression shifted.

"Okay?" He seemed shocked, like he hadn't expected it to be this easy.

"Okay." You sighed, pushing the cart way. You weren't used to eating a lot of food at once. "Like you said, I have nowhere else to go, and...I..." You looked up at the ceiling, cursing your eyes for growing hot again. "I don't think I could handle it again. Being out on my own, somewhere new every night. It's not safe." You were mumbling now, trying to avoid another fit of tears. "It's how I got here in the first place."

He nodded knowingly, placing his hand over yours. You immediately pulled your hands away, curling them against your chest. He noticed your reaction and frowned, "I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's okay," You shook your head, returning your hands to your lap. "Just a, uh, reaction, I guess."

He nodded again, sitting back into his chair. "I'm going to go get some food from the cafeteria. Try and rest a little, okay? The more you do, the sooner you'll go home."

You watched as he lowered the bed again and adjusted the blankets around you, pulling them up to your shoulders. You settled in, but for some reason, you couldn't close your eyes.

"Don't worry," Mark said, shooting you a soft smile. "I'll hurry back." He studied your expression, settling his chin onto his hands once more. "I won't leave until I'm sure you're asleep."

You breathed a sigh of relief, nodding. "Thank you." As you began to shut your eyelids, you glanced over at him, smiling. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, (Y/N)."


	5. Chapter 5

**MARK**

For the first time since he'd encountered her, she looked peaceful. She was fast asleep under the covers, with a soft, settled look on her face small strands of hair gracing her forehead. He didn't mean to watch her sleep, but he couldn't help it. As he chewed his breakfast, he thought about how much had happened within the last couple of weeks. 

He couldn't help but feel the anger bubble up again when thinking about the circumstances. Sure, her captor had been taken into custody and was _sure_ to be charged, but Mark wasn't satisfied. He wanted to beat the shit out of the guy, to give him just a fraction of the pain he'd caused (Y/N). Mark wasn't even sure why - he barely knew her and had no _actual_ attachments, but something about her wouldn't let him just walk away. To think that someone so timid and gentle had endured the things she had, god...he couldn't think about it any more.

When he'd gone to grab his food, he'd checked multiple times to be sure that she was asleep. In fact, he'd stayed for twenty minutes longer, waiting until her eyelids were fluttering and her breathing was slow and steady. On his way out, he'd been stopped by her nurse, who asked how she was doing. More often than not, she left it up to him to deliver updates, seeing as how he refused to leave anyway.

When the nurse had told him about her conversation with (Y/N) that morning, he'd felt such a big lump form in his throat that he'd had trouble swallowing.

" _It was heartbreaking,"_ The nurse had said, " _She had no idea what day it was. She thought she was twenty four, but when I told her the date, she realized how long she'd been in there. Her face...it just_ dropped. _It was like I'd told her that her parents had died, or something."_

He'd been afraid to ask. _"How long was she in there?"_

The nurse had glanced down at her clipboard, face grim. " _About seven months."_

The thought of her spending a birthday in chains without even knowing it was so cruel it made him angry. He didn't imagine her captor had let her celebrate, or even known of her birthday at all. He was almost glad that he hadn't been in the room for this conversation, or surely his heart would've broken.

"Mark?"

He glanced up, setting his plate back down on his lap. She was awake, barely, and looking at him through her hooded lids. The swelling on her eye had gone down significantly, and now there were only traces of purple bruises around her eye socket. "Yes?" He responded softly.

"Do you know when I can leave?" Her voice was so soft that he almost didn't hear it.

"Later today, if all goes well," He murmured, offering her a pleasant smile. He moved his chair closer, setting his tray on the table beside the window. "How did you sleep?"

She didn't answer, though - her lids had fallen shut again, and when he paused to listen, she was breathing long, steady breaths. He smiled to himself, happy that she was able to sleep so well. As of right now, she was doped up on enough drugs to keep her from having night terrors or panic episodes. The nurse said that the drugs were why she seemed so calm - things would change when she went home, she'd warned. As far as he'd heard, most survivors of situations like these either collapsed into constant panic or constant detachment. They didn't know enough about her to guess which one it would be yet, but the nurse had put her bet on both.

The door opened, and her nurse poked her head in. Anne, that was her name. "How is she?"

Mark looked up, leaning back in his chair. He was exhausted, but he refused to move until she woke up again. "Better, I think. She was awake a minute ago, but she went back to sleep."

"That'll change." Anne stepped into the room, clipboard in hand. There had only been one time he'd seen her without it, and he knew why - (Y/N)'s was an unusual case, and he knew that she was documenting every aspect of it. "They upped her dosage last night, to help her sleep. Once I dial it back down, she'll probably spend most of her time awake."

"Do you think she'll be able to leave today?"

"She should be." Anne looked at him out of the corner of her eye as she fumbled with (Y/N)'s IV, a small smile ghosting across her lips. "I do hope you understand what you've signed up for." Mark frowned, confused. The older woman let out a small laugh, finishing up her work with the dosage. "When we release her, we'll be sending her medications with her, but it's going to be very different."

He paused. "Different how?"

"Well, Mark, she's endured seven months of trauma." Anne was speaking softly at him now, but her eyes were trained on the girl in the bed. "She's not going to recover from this any time soon. It would be in your best interest to start preparing, seeing as how you volunteered to look after her." The motherly way Anne brushes (Y/N)'s hair from her forehead makes him smile. She looks both concerned and sympathetic, as if she never wants to let anything or anyone touch her again. "There will probably be quite a few episodes of panic, sensitivity to quick movement and loud noises. You can expect her to retreat into herself and be unresponsive in conversation."

He nodded, crossing his arms. "I just want to help her."

"Oh, I know, sweetheart." Anne looked at him, smiling. "And I believe that you can, I just think you need to understand what you're getting yourself into, is all."

He quirked a brow. "What else can I expect?"

"Well, we're prescribing her sleeping medications, but night terrors will probably occur at some point. Frequent episodes of manic attacks, usually incited by overwhelming panic. She's probably going to experience a lot of emotional detachment, both from you and the world, so don't take it personally." Anne folded her hands, lips pressed into a grim line. She didn't really seem like she wanted to say the next part.

"What?" Mark asked, tilting his head at her. "What is it?"

"Mark...," She sighed, looking over to be sure that (Y/N) was still asleep. "When the doctors examined her, after she was first stabilized, they founded evidence of..." Anne looked like she wasn't sure how to word it. "The best way for me to put it without being so blunt is, ' _forced entry.'_ Do you understand what I'm saying?"

He felt his skin pale. "Yes, I...I understand."

She nodded, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I wouldn't be surprised if she's very timid to touch. In cases like these, patients often have trouble differentiating between positive touch and negative touch, so they act abrasively to all of it. Right now, she isn't so bad, but it'll change when she's no longer drugged."

Mark swallowed the lump in his throat, shifting his eyes to the sleeping form in the bed. The thought of Roger touching her in that way made him sick to his stomach. "That's why she flinches, when someone touches her."

Anne nodded, returning to the other side of the bed. She placed a hand on (Y/N)'s cheek, looking unbearably sad for her. "That's her reaction now. It may be worse, after she returns home. The site of her captivity is next door, so you can expect some reactions because of that." She looked up at him. "Overall, Mark, you're going to have to be very patient with her. She's a strong girl, I know that much, but she'll have her moments. This isn't her first trauma, and they begin to weigh pretty heavily on the shoulders."

What she said caught him by surprise. "What do you mean by that? Not her first trauma?"

"I told you about her family, didn't I?" Anne looks confused.

"Only that she didn't have any."

She nods, her lips forming a small 'o.' "Well, based on what files they could find on her, she spent a good deal of time on her own. She's an impressive case, really. She grew up with her father. Her mother was completely out of the picture, and our files say that she died around the time that (Y/N) was four. Car accident, but (Y/N) was unaware of her existence, so it wasn't too traumatic for her." Anne pauses. "When she was fifteen, her father was diagnosed with brain cancer. It was tragic, really. He perished three months after his diagnosis."

Mark felt a heavy feeling in his chest, but he didn't interrupt her.

"She lived with her grandmother after that, until she graduated. Her grandma was old, though, and (Y/N) had to find a way to put her in a home while she was away at college, because she couldn't take care of her anymore. While (Y/N) was attending UCLA, her grandmother died in the home. She'd been senile for years, as was written on her record, but ultimately it was a lung infection that did her in. After that, (Y/N) only had her mother's sister, whom we both know doesn't wish to be in the picture. It appears she never has."

He didn't realize he'd been frowning until his cheeks began to ache. "What happened to (Y/N), after her grandmother?"

Anne flipped the page on her clipboard, silent for a moment. "She finished college, graduated with her bachelor's in bio-engineering. After that, we don't really have much on her. The two years between her graduation and her abduction are a mystery."

Mark let out a small, harsh laugh. "I'll be damned."

Anne raised a brow at him, tucking the clipboard under her arm. "What?"

"She studied bio-engineering." He smiled, glancing over to where she was sleeping soundly. "I did too, biomed. What a coincidence."

Anne smiled, nodding. "I don't really believe in coincidences." With that, she took her leave, shutting the door softly behind her.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**MARK**

"So, how is she now?" Jack's voice filtered through his headphones, layered with the same curiosity and concern Mark had heard from Wade and Bob. He'd just gotten home twenty minutes ago, (Y/N) in tow, and his friends had been anxious to hear his explanation for his week-long absence. He hadn't said much to anyone - the first morning that she was in the hospital, he'd tweeted that he was taking a week off to deal with an emergency, and that he was perfectly okay and would be back before they knew it. 

"She's sleeping," Mark murmured in response, glancing over his shoulder. She was asleep on his bed, purely because when he'd tried to lead her to the guest room, she hadn't wanted to be alone. He understood, so he'd offered her his bed and promised to stay with her. "Her nurse switched her from the IV to her medications around lunch. She said that (Y/N) would probably spend most of the day asleep while she adjusts."

"I can't believe all of this happened." Bob hadn't said much, but he seemed just as disturbed by the week's events as the rest of them. "It's just so odd, to think that someone like that was living next door all this time, and you never knew."

"I know." Mark sighed, taking a sip of water from the metal container that he kept next to his desk. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying his best to keep the disheveled locks off of his glasses.

"That guy was on the news this morning." Wade was quiet for a minute. "Molly showed me - we just kept talking about how horrible it was, and neither of us had any idea someone we knew was involved.

Mark frowned. "What did the news say about him?"

"It was just a vague description of the case, talking about who he was and what he was standing trial for. They didn't say anything about you or (Y/N), probably to protect your identities." Wade coughed, and Mark heard him saying something to someone in the background. It was probably Molly. "His trial is next week. Everyone is sure he's going to be found guilty, there's too much evidence."

"Yeah, I heard that the house is in his name, and his DNA is everywhere. They've already broken his alibi." Bob sighed. "The guy's a lawyer, though. It wouldn't be a bad idea to expect him to have some tricks up his sleeve."

They were all silent for a second.

"Is (Y/N) going to testify?" Jack asked.

"No," Mark murmured, glancing back to her sleeping form, "She's not. They have her eye-witness account and all of the details straight from her mouth for the trial, but she won't be there in person. Her doctor is scared it might be detrimental to her mental health."

"I figured she wasn't," Bob replied. "I wouldn't be surprised if-"

"Mark?"

He almost hadn't heard her over his headphones. When he looked up, she was sitting up just enough to see him over the comforter, her eyes squinted as if she were confused. He mumbled a quick, "She's awake, I'll update you later," and ended the call, setting his headphones down on his desk. "Hey," He said, smiling softly. He stood, making his way over to the end of the bed, where he promptly took a set. "How do you feel?"

She yawned, burying her face into the pillow. _His_ pillow, actually. "Tired."

"Yeah, that'll pass. Anne said you should adjust to these medications by tomorrow morning." Mark paused, studying the way she was laying. She was on the side that wasn't bandaged, but her hips were turned flat - probably so as not to press the bandages on her thighs into the mattress, just as she'd done with her neck. She'd moved his pillows so that they were in a 'U' shape around her and tucked his blankets up, making some sort of a make-shift burrow.

"Mmmmhm," She mumbled, peeling one of her eyes open. She peered at him through the small sliver, a soft smile touching her lips. "Where's your puppy?"

Mark couldn't help but chuckle. (Y/N) had been in a decline when he'd finally gotten her in the door, but she'd refused to let him take her to bed until she could pet the golden that was anxiously begging her attention. He'd obliged, allowing her to pet the pup for a few minutes, but eventually, he'd had to pry her away.

"She's probably still outside the door," He murmured, glancing over at his bedroom door. Surely enough, there was a large blur of a shadow against the light floor, signifying that Chica was _still_ waiting for him to open up. "Do you want her to come in here?"

(Y/N) nodded groggily, tapping her fingers on the blanket. "Please."

He couldn't argue with that, so he made his way to the door and hesitantly pulled it open. Chica shot up, her tail wagging in full force, and looked at him with an expression that could only mean, "Pleaaaase give me attention."

"Come on, Chica-bica." He opened the door enough to let her in, and promptly shut it afterwards. "Be calm."

She seemed to listen, for she didn't charge the bed as he'd thought she would. Instead, she followed closely on his heels, only jumping up when he looked at her and pat the edge of the bed.

"Hello, Chica," (Y/N) said, stretching her fingers towards the retriever. Chica responded with a series of tail wags and inched as close as she could get, until she'd practically replaced the pillows on (Y/N)'s left. She didn't seem to mind, though, and lay her head against the dog's neck.

Mark smiled, happy to see that his dog was providing her some much-needed comfort. She stroked Chica's side with her fingers, a small grin pulling at her lips. Her eyes trailed up to him, and he couldn't help but notice how tired she looked. "You really should get some sleep."

"In a minute," She mumbled stubbornly, burying her face in Chica's fur.

Mark felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, and when he took it out, it was a message from his group with Jack, Bob, and Wade. The latest one was from Jack, who asked how things were going. Instead of replying, Mark stealthily lifted his phone, snapping a picture of (Y/N) and Chica. He sent it to the group, grinning like an idiot. Jack responded immediately, noting the bandages on her neck, of which were visible over the comforter. Mark explained that it was the worst of her shock wounds, the other two being on her legs. Anne had sent him home with supplies and instructions on how to change the bandages. Now that he thought about it, he was supposed to change them tonight.

"Hey, (Y/N)?" He asked softly, grabbing the bag that he'd set next to the bed.

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, raising an eyebrow. "Hmm?"

"I need to change your bandages. Is that okay?" Mark began taking the supplies out of the bag, laying them out on the blanket in front of him. She hesitated, but eventually, her head bobbed in a small nod. "Okay, I'll be gentle, I promise." He took out the sterile bandages he'd been given, being sure not to open them yet, and moved around to her side of the bed. Carefully, he unwrapped the gauze from her neck, removing the bandage with deft fingers. The wound underneath wasn't as bad as it had been a few days ago, but the two red circle were still very prominent. She only winced once, when he pulled the last of the bandage off, but she seemed to handle it very well. He grabbed a new bandage, removing it from its sterile package, and carefully placed it where the other one had been. Once he was sure that it was secure on her skin, he grabbed the medical gauze, putting down a thin layer to keep the bandage in place. "There."

She moved her head side to side, as if testing to see that he'd done it correctly. Satisfied, she smiled, placing her had back against Chica's neck. "Thanks." When he'd put the supplies away and returned his gaze to her, her eyes were closed.

"(Y/N)?" He whispered softly. She didn't respond. Mark reached out, softly patting his dog's head. "Be a good girl and keep the bad dreams away, okay?"

Chica licked his hand, and when he bent down to kiss her head, his cheek as well. Mark smiled, returning to his desk. The call was waiting for him, and though he quickly dove back into the conversation, he glanced every so often at the sleeping girl in his bed. At the first sign of a night terror, he'd be there.

~

He hadn't wanted to leave her alone, so he'd grabbed some blankets and pillows from the guest room and made himself a makeshift bed on the ground. Sure, he was painfully sore when he woke up, but it wasn't so bad. When he finally managed to get off of the ground, she was still asleep, snuggling into Chica's side just as she'd been last night.

He smiled, figuring he would go make them some food. Mark was sure to prop the door open so that she'd know he was close by, and he'd be sure to listen closely for any calls for his assistance.

Seeing as how bacon and eggs were one of the only things he knew how to make, that's exactly what he did. The bacon came first, just because it took much longer to cook. He made six strips, figuring he'd give her three, and make more if she asked. When those were finished, he started on the eggs, hoping she liked them scrambled with cheese. Everybody liked eggs scrambled with cheese, right? While those cooked, he made some toast, checking to make sure that he still had jelly. He did, thank god.

Just as he was putting everything onto two plates, he heard a whine from the hallway. Chica was standing there, her tail tucked between her legs and soft whimpers escaping her snout. "Chica, what's wrong?"

She was moving back and forth restlessly, making her way down the hallway and back, looking at him with a scared look in her eyes. Mark quickly set the plate down, finally managing to understand. "Shit," He grunted, heading towards his bedroom as quickly as he good. When he braced himself against the doorway, she was sitting up in bed, her head between her knees and her shoulders shaking rapidly.

"(Y/N)," He said softly, slowly stepping into the room.

She looked up at him quickly, and when she did, he felt his heart sink. She was sobbing quietly, arms wrapped around herself in a sad attempt to stop herself from shaking so violently. She stared at him for a few long seconds before slowly trying to take a breath. It was cut off by a wheeze, and then her breaths began to come short and fast.

He rushed over to the bed, quickly grabbing the blanket and wrapping it around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest. "It's okay, (Y/N), you're safe." He locked his arms securely around her, trying his best to rock her back and forth. "You're safe, I promise. You're safe." He would repeat it until she believed it, and sure enough, she seemed to.

It took a few minutes of the same actions before she relaxed a little, sinking further into the blanket. He carefully wedged his right arm under her legs and lifted her, not liking how unbearably _weightless_ she was. She didn't object, so he carried her out into the kitchen, making sure the blanket was secure around her before propping her up on the counter.

"I'm making breakfast. Are you hungry?" He looked at her, but she didn't respond. She wasn't even looking at him - her eyes were focused blankly on the wall, her expression, simply put, 'numb.'

"(Y/N)?"

She still didn't respond. Mark set down the other plate, carefully placing a hand on her shoulder. It seemed like no matter what he did, she couldn't hear him. Either that, or she didn't want to. He didn't blame her - if he'd had such a bad reaction as she had, he probably wouldn't feel up for talking either. Hell, he was impressed she'd spoken at all since she'd woken up in the hospital.

"Will you take your medication?" He asked softly, lowering his hand back to his side. He wasn't about to make her look at him, and if she didn't respond, he'd have to find a clever way to give it to her. Anne had told him that it was _very_ important that (Y/N) never missed a pill. One slip could end in an episode, she'd said.

Slowly, she turned her head to look at him, blinking slowly. Her head shifted in the smallest nod he'd ever seen, but it was enough. He reached for the three bottles that were lined up next to the coffee maker, taking out the appropriate doses. He didn't remember what all of them were for. Well, that wasn't true. He had a vague idea - the blue one was to help calm her nerves, to keep her from going into episodes of panic. The small white one was to keep her wounds from getting infected, and the large white one was to balance out her mood and keep her from dwelling on her trauma. He had another bottle locked in the medicine cabinet, which he'd been ordered to install a padlock on, that was filled with pills to help her sleep.

He filled a glass with water and held it out to her, but she wouldn't take it. "Do you want me to help you?" He spoke quietly, as if speaking to a scared child. She nodded, so he grabbed two of the pills, motioning for her to open her mouth. She did so, and he placed the white pills on her tongue. He then held the water up to her lips and watched as she took a sip, effectively swallowing half of her medication. They endured the same process with the other two pills, which she swallowed dutifully, and then he put everything away.

"Do you feel like eating?" He was watching her face for a response, and felt a weight lift from his shoulders when the corners of her mouth turned up ever so slightly. Smiling back at her, Mark carefully pulled her back into his arms and carried her to the table, placing her in the chair. He set her plate in front of her, watching as she began to eye it curiously. "It's one of the few things I know how to make," He admitted sheepishly, sitting across from her with his own plate of food.

She picked up her fork, groggily collecting a bite of eggs, and brought it to her mouth. Mark looked on anxiously, praying that the food wasn't terrible. She seemed to like it, though, and started to take another bite. Satisfied, he dug into his own meal, actually somewhat impressed with himself.

"Where's Chica?" (Y/N) asked after she'd finished her eggs, looking up at him. The blanket was still wrapped securely around her shoulders, and she'd made just enough of a break to fit her arm through. At the sound of her name, the retriever trotted into the kitchen, bee-lining for (Y/N). A grin split her lips and she reached down, patting Chica's head. Chica plopped to the ground at her feet, resting her head between her paws.

"She really likes you," Mark murmured, peering around the table at his pup. Sure, Chica was a sweetheart that was friendly to any and ever person she met, but her attachment to (Y/N) was surprising. He was almost jealous.

(Y/N) just smiled, stroking Chica's ears as she moved on to her bacon. She seemed to enjoy it quite a bit, and before he knew it, she'd finished that, too. "I haven't had bacon in a long time," She murmured, one of the first coherent sentences he'd heard from her all morning.

Mark smiled back, chewing thoughtfully on his food. "I can make more, if you want."

She shook her head, setting her fork down. "No, it's okay. I'm full."

He looked down at her plate wearily - she'd finished her eggs and the bacon, but had left her toast untouched. It was enough of a dent to satisfy him, though, so he let it slide. Anne had told him to make sure she ate a decent amount for each meal, because she really needed to reach a healthy weight. Her doctor had speculated that she'd been taking in anywhere between seven hundred and a thousand calories a day, which was half as much as the recommended two thousand.

"Alright," He said finally, grabbing her plate along with his. He dumped the uneaten food into the trash and tucked the dishes into the dishwasher, then grabbed the jelly and put it away. When he was done, he turned around, bracing his hands against the edge of the counter. "So, I have some work to do today, but you're more than welcome to sit and watch. I know you don't like to be left alone."

She seemed to think about it for a moment, and then gave him a steady nod. She stood, following him back to his room, the blanket dragging behind her. Chica was hot on her heels, seemingly unable to leave her side. "What is your job?" She asked, taking her place on the bed.

Mark walked around to his desk, starting up his computer. "I game for a living. I post videos of my playthroughs on YouTube."

She tilted her head curiously at him. "Like PewDiePie?"

Mark's lips parted slightly, shocked that she was familiar with what he was talking about. After his initial shock passed, he grinned. "Yeah, like PewDiePie. My channel is Markiplier. Did you used to watch him?"

She shook her head, pulling Chica into the blanket with her. Chica settled happily, resting her head on (Y/N)'s lap. "A friend of mine used to. She watched a bunch of them, usually PewDiePie and his friends. Do you play with him?"

Mark took a seat at his desk, nodding. "Yeah, all the time. Felix and I are pretty good friends."

(Y/N) was silent for a moment, and then suddenly, her eyes widened. "Wait, did you used to have pink hair?"

He felt the smile on his lips. "For a while, yeah. I dyed it for charity."

She was smiling softly now, looking almost... _happy?_ He figured her medications had begun to kick in. "Yeah! I remember her talking about you. She always called you a goofball."

Mark laughed, pulling up all of his software. He glanced over at her, happy to see that she was thinking about a better part of her life. "That I am."

He watched as she sat back, resting her back against the mountain of pillows she'd created the night before. "That's so crazy."

He chuckled. "Yeah, it is. Though I have to say, you were really missing out, not watching my videos." He puffed out his chest in a way that he hoped would make her laugh, and it did.

"I bet." She settled down on the bed, hugging a pillow to her chest. It only took him a second to realize that it was the pillow he usually slept on, making him smile.

"Alright, I'm gonna put these on," He motioned to his headphones, "Cause I need to record a video. I might yell a little, so don't freak out." He watched as she took in his words and nodded, happy that she was satisfied to just watch him play. "Wave your hands if you need anything, okay?"

"Okay," She mumbled into his pillow, voice slightly muffled.

He smiled, starting up the game, and hit record. "Hello, everybody, my name is Markiplier, and welcome back to Subnautica. I just went through a freaking endeavor-"


	7. Chapter 7

You liked the medications, much to your own shock. You'd always objected to the thought of putting little white pills in your body to make you feel human, but somehow, these helped.

When you'd woken up this morning, shaking and trying to claw the feeling of him off of your skin, you'd been terrified. It was a new feeling, to know that you were safe and still somehow manage to forget. Mark had been there, though, and you'd been thankful for that. Even when you hadn't felt like talking and were sure that the numbness was going to swallow you whole, he'd been patient. After he'd helped you take your pills, you'd steadily calmed down and accepted that things were pretty okay.

Now, watching him play his game, you felt almost...happy? No, not quite, but definitely safe. Something about the way he was always ready to come to your aid was reassuring. Even now, playing his game, he looked over at you every few minutes, almost as if making sure that you were still there.

When he got really into it, he didn't look up as often, but you didn't mind. He was having a blast, and you weren't about to keep him from enjoying himself. After all, he was doing so much for you already, though you still couldn't fathom why. Sure, he said he felt partially responsible for your injury, but injuries healed. It wasn't as if you'd been mutilated or permanently scarred, so what was the deal? Oh well, you wouldn't push.

You waved your hands hesitantly, catching his attention. He looked up immediately, frowning in concern. "I'm gonna go grab some water," You murmured softly, so as not to interrupt his recording. He nodded, flashing you a small smile, and returned to his game. Chica accompanied you into the kitchen, clearly too attached to let you wander off alone.

You smiled fondly - her attachment to you made you feel a warmth that had been absent from your chest for a long time. The fact that she was always looking after you and following you around, even more than Mark, was just a testament to her good nature. You scratched her between the ears, placing a soft kiss on her snout. "You're such a good girl."

It took you a few minutes to find the cabinet with the cups, and another few to figure out the settings on the water dispenser in the fridge. Finally, though, you managed, and began your slow trek back to Mark's room. As you approached the door, you could barely hear what he was saying. You pushed the door open, taking note of the way his eyes darted to you and back to the camera, the exchange mere milliseconds long. He was in the middle of a sentence.

"-in the next video, bye-bye!" He fumbled around with his computer for a second before taking off his headphones, his eyes finding their way back to you. "I hope I didn't bore you."

"No, no, it was entertaining." You smiled, returning to his bed. He sat back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head.

"It was?" Mark raised a brow, running a few fingers through his floof of red hair. It looked as though he'd been sticking his head out of the window of a moving car.

"Yeah, it was just like watching a video, but live." You took a long sip from the glass, enjoying the cool way it slipped down your throat. "You yell a lot when you play games."

He chuckled, getting out of his seat. "Yeah, it's part of my charm. People worry if I don't yell a bit." Mark winked, and you felt your breath pause for a second. "How are you doing?"

You answered honestly. "I feel fine. My neck throbs a little, but nothing I can't handle. I'm exhausted, too, but I guess that's normal." You grabbed the one particular pillow you'd been attached to, wrapping your arms around it and resting your head on top. "How are _you_ doing?"

He seemed surprised by your question. "I'm pretty good, I guess. Pretty exhausted myself."

You wanted to talk to him about what you'd noticed this morning, but you weren't sure how to initiate it. "Mark?"

He was standing at the end of the bed now, drinking water from an orange, tin bottle. "Yeah?"

"Did you sleep on the floor last night?" You motioned to the makeshift bed in the corner, already feeling guilty again.

He shrugged, nodding. "Yeah. I figured you wouldn't want to be left alone, and I wasn't going to impose by joining you." He motioned to the other half of the bed.

"I don't want to make you do that," You said quietly, eyeing the bed on the floor. It didn't even _look_ comfortable. "I'll sleep over there, you can have your bed." You hated the thought of imposing on him, as he feared doing to you. This was his house, and his bed, and you'd been taking all of it without so much as a second thought.

He shook his head, lips pressed into a firm line. "No, (Y/N), I'm not going to make you sleep on the floor. I'll figure it out, I'd rather you be comfortable." He crouched next to the bed, giving his dog some much-craved attention. She panted eagerly, trying her best to lick his face, and he let her.

You sighed, "Mark-"

"No, (Y/N)."

"Mark." You were determined now. "I've slept on worse. Believe me, a blanket is an upgrade."

His expression softened, and he was silent for a second. You felt bad about guilt-tripping him like that, but you couldn't have him breaking his back for the sake of keeping you comfortable. "Fine," He said after a few moments, looking back up at you, "I won't sleep on the floor anymore. But you aren't sleeping there, either."

You frowned, confused. "Then...what?"

He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable, so I'll just move one of the mattresses from upstairs-"

"No, Mark, you don't need to do that." You were speaking quietly now. "You can...you can sleep here." You motioned to the bed next to you, your fingers hesitantly brushing the sheet.

He looked at you with intent, raising a brow. "Are you absolutely sure? No 'maybe's', I need to know that you'll be one hundred percent okay with it." He was watching you with that concerned look in his eyes, the one that you were growing increasingly familiar with.

"Yeah...I can handle it." You were reassuring yourself as well as him. Surely, you could handle sleeping next to someone. You trusted him, and you didn't think he would try anything. "I'll be alright."

~

Mark stirred for reasons he couldn't place. When he managed to peel his eyes open, he was met by a wall of white fabric - for her comfort, he'd used pillows from upstairs to make a small barrier between them. She hadn't asked, but he didn't want to accidentally invade her space while he was sleeping. He sat up, glancing over at where she slept, but she wasn't there.

"(Y/N)?" He murmured softly, grabbing his glasses from his nightstand. The door was slightly ajar, but it didn't look like there were any lights on. Maybe she'd gone to the bathroom?

He slid out of bed, his feet cold against the floor. The door didn't creak when he opened it, and his feet were silent in the hallway. It didn't take long for him to find her - she was sitting on the couch with her knees tucked against her chest. She'd pulled the hem of the t-shirt he'd given to her to sleep in over her legs, probably in an attempt to keep warm.

"(Y/N)?" He called again, standing just behind the couch. She didn't reply to him, or shift her head in an attempt to look at him.

Mark walked around the edge of the couch, struggling to see her face in the dark. He could tell by the shudder of her shoulders that she was crying. "Hey," He said softly, rushing forward. He crouched in front of her, trying his best to make out her facial features. "(Y/N), what happened?"

She was looking at him now, her eyes glistening with tears that had yet to grace her cheeks. The sight made his shoulders feel heavy.

"Did you have a nightmare?" He grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch, gently wrapping it around her shoulders. She shook her head, slowly, and that's when he took note of the fact that her breathing was fairly normal. So it wasn't a panic attack, then. "Please, talk to me."

She sniffled, fingers wiping furiously at her cheeks. "I'm sorry," She whimpered, looking down at her knees. "I didn't mean to wake you up, I tried not to make any noise-"

"Please, don't worry about that." Mark stood, carefully placing himself on the couch next to her. When he opened his arms, she seemed to consider it for a second, and he waited patiently. Eventually, she slid forward, placing her head against his chest. He was sure to adjust the blanket so that it enveloped her snugly before wrapping his arms around her shoulders, fingers stroking her back reassuringly. "What caused this?"

She was silent for a second, her sniffles slowing. Without looking up, she murmured into his chest, "I went to get a glass of water again, and I...I realized that you can see...from the window...I..-" She choked up again, and Mark did his best to give her reassurance. "I thought a light was on and I panicked, I thought-" She cut herself off that time. "I was just seeing things. I was overreacting."

Mark sighed, resting his head on top of hers. She didn't seem to mind, so he didn't move it, instead focused on keeping his strokes to her back slow and steady. "You don't have to worry about him anymore," He whispered into the crown of her head.

"I know, I know," She mumbled, pulling back enough to look at him. "I just...I was _so_ sure, and I..." She looked down at her hands. Her next sentence broke his heart. "Am I crazy?"

He froze, his eyes flying down to her face. "No, honey, no," He whispered, placing a hand on either side of her face. She flinched, and he felt terrible for forcing contact like this, but he needed her to understand. "(Y/N), you are _not_ crazy. Don't you ever think that."

She was crying again, and he did his best to wipe the tears from her face with his thumbs. "But-"

"But nothing." He lifted her face enough to make her look at him, raising his brows at her. "You are one of the _strongest_ people I've ever met, and you _will_ get through this. This is just a bump in the road, okay? You went through seven months of absolute hell. Most people would've crumbled, but here you are." He offered her a small, reassuring smile. She was hanging on his every word, as if she'd crumble, too, if he stopped talking. "You're allowed to feel this, (Y/N). Don't doubt yourself just because you have a little trouble sometimes."

She didn't respond at first, just closed her eyes and braced her forehead against his shoulder. "Thank you." Her words were muffled by the fabric of his t-shirt.

"Don't thank me." He placed his hands around both of her arms, guiding her away from him slightly. "Do you want me to get something to help you sleep?" She thought it over for a second, then nodded. "Alright, wait here."

Mark headed into the kitchen, feeling around in the pocket of his sweatpants for the key to the medicine cabinet. He unlocked it dutifully, shaking out a pill from her prescription, and locked it back. When he went to get her a glass of water, he noticed the abandoned cup in the sink. Upon closer inspection, he noticed the large chip in the bottom, probably from being dropped. _Poor girl._ He frowned, glancing up at the window. Roger's house was as dark as ever, but its very existence seemed to loom threateningly. He set the cup back down and filled the glass, bringing it and the pill out to her.

She swallowed it quickly, pulling the blanket tight around her shoulders. He sat with her for a few more minutes, offering her small jokes and soft words to keep her calm. She was smiling now, but he could tell by the way her eyelids drooped that her medication was beginning to kick in. When her responses began to space out, he scooped her up into his arms, bringing her back to bed. She accepted the mattress like a hug, quickly snuggling back into the space between his pillow barrier and Chica, whom had managed to sleep through these events.

Mark took his place on the other side of the bed, propping himself up on his elbow. He only relaxed when he was sure he was asleep, and as he set his glasses back on the nightstand, he could hear her mumbling something into her pillow. He leaned closer, a curious smile gracing his lips. It took a few seconds of careful listening to hear what she was saying, but what he heard made him grin like an idiot.

She rolled over sleepily, burying her face in the pillow opposite of Chica. He'd given her his usual pillow, seeing how attached she was, though he couldn't fathom why. As she got comfortable, her lips parted slightly, repeating what she'd mumbled before, " _Goofball."_


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say that I hope you're all enjoying this! I know it's not a typical Markiplier/Reader fic when most of the story is from Mark's perspective, but I feel like it fits? It's about the reader's recovery, all of which is noted through observation, so I feel like Mark's perspective really would take charge. Don't be afraid to tell me if you wanted more chapters from the reader's POV though!

It had been a month since she'd been released from the hospital. If Mark was being frank, her first week had been rocky as all hell. It had become routine for him to get up in the middle of the night to ensure that she was still asleep, and more often than not, she wasn't. The couch was always where he found her, either crying or staring numbly at the wall, sometimes watching the kitchen window. It had gotten to a point where he'd ordered blackout curtains to pull across the window at night and spare her the anxiety of seeing the hellhole she'd been trapped in for seven months.

There was one particular night that he didn't think he'd ever forget. It had been the first Saturday after her release - or, seeing as how it was well into the night, perhaps Sunday morning - and somehow, while they'd been asleep, the pillow barrier had shifted enough to let him through. He hadn't meant to invade her space. He'd woken up to the sound of soft crying, and that's when he'd taken notice of the warmth against his chest. Without the barrier to keep him on his side, Mark had drowsily pulled her into his chest, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

He'd never seen something so heartbreaking in his life. Instead of waking him up or trying to get free of his grasp, she'd stayed there, crying silently and hoping that he would move soon. She'd just... _taken_ it, as if she had no other choice. He hadn't been able to keep this thoughts from going _there,_ back to the origin of her learned helplessness. He couldn't help but cringe at how many times she'd probably had similar experiences, only with much more discomfort than a sleepy cuddle. The thought of that man touching her in that way killed him - he'd seen that raw look on her face that night, the look of a beaten child, retreating into herself and letting the numbness take over until the threat had passed. To think he'd been the reason...he didn't like it.

The next morning she'd had an appointment with her doctor, and Mark had gone to Anne for any help she could offer. When hearing of the events from the night before, she'd given him a sympathetic look that showed the same heartbreak he felt. After that, she'd recommended a specialist for (Y/N), spouting off all kinds of stellar recommendations. Apparently, Lynn Stevens had experience dealing with these types of trauma, and a record of stellar transformations to prove it.

So, Monday morning, Mark had taken (Y/N) for her first appointment. She hadn't wanted to go in alone, so he'd walked her all the way up to the office doors, where Lynn made him say goodbye. Instead of going back to the car, he sat in the hallway, patiently checking his social media for the hour period that she was inside. She'd been surprised to see him, but thankful, and he hadn't been able to help but notice how much lighter her shoulders seemed.

She'd been seeing Lynn since, and now, three weeks later, her visits were less frequent. She went twice a week instead of four times, and whatever the woman was doing, it was working.

He remembered the day he'd first seen her smile from ear to ear in foggy detail. He couldn't remember what they'd been talking about to start the conversation, but eventually, Mark had gotten on to the topic of service animals. (Y/N) had been telling him about how good of a service dog Chica would make - to which he'd heartily agreed - and all that she'd learned of them from Lynn. Apparently, Lynn had recommended that several of her patients with similar traumas to (Y/N) invest in the idea of a service animal. (Y/N) said that they were also used to aid victims of severe trauma, to combat symptoms of PTSD and help them work through anxiety.

Mark had actually been fond of the idea, so he'd offered to look into it. At his suggestion, she'd turned to him, and slowly, her face begun to glow. Her lips had peeled back as far as they could, revealing her happy smile, and it had absolutely taken his breath away. It wasn't a, " _My god, she's so beautiful,"_ type of moment, as he'd first thought. No, it was more of a swell in his chest, a growing blossom of hope for her recovery.

He'd come to care quite a bit for her in the month she'd been under his wing, and he couldn't help but root for her full recovery. Sure, she was a bit of a unique case, and as one doctor put it, ' _A lost cause of enough emotional baggage to weigh her down and drown her,'_ but Mark believed whole-heartedly that she'd overcome this. She was strong, that he knew for certain.

She was smiling now, talking about how well her session had gone with Lynn this morning. He was trying his best to listen, but every time she flashed that smile, he felt himself loose a little more of his grip. Yes, smiles weren't that unique. It was just that he'd seen her at her worst - instead of smiles, she'd been flashing a frown like a wound, usually accompanied by a numb expression or full-fledged sobs. To see her so happy was to see an eclipse of all the stars - to see it was surely to be dreaming, and he knew he'd never see anything like it again.

Yes, there were still bad nights. Every so often, he woke to the sound of her whimpering his name, begging him to wake up and tell her that she was safe. That was all she ever wanted to hear these days. " _Please, Mark, please, god, wake up,"_ She'd whimper, hesitant to disturb him, " _Please. I'm so scared. Tell me things will be okay. Tell me you'll keep me safe. Please."_

"Mark?" Her voice freed him from his thoughts. He glanced up - she was tilting her head at him curiously, eyebrows furrowed. Her smile hadn't disappeared, though it was slightly confused.

"Sorry," He apologized sheepishly, "Zoned out. What were you saying?"

Her smile returning full-force, making his breath catch. "Lynn told me today that I should think about getting into writing."

"Don't you already write?" Mark pressed the rim of his coffee mug to his lips, taking a sip. The bitter drink oozed down his throat, creating a satisfying warmth in the pit of his stomach. He knew the answer, considering he was the one making runs to pick her up another journal every few days. She filled them up faster than anyone he'd ever seen, with letters and poems and little sketches. She didn't usually let him read much, but what he had seen was actually quite good.

"Well, yeah, but it's all personal stuff." She hugged one of the pillows to her chest, resting her chin on top. Her t-shirt hung loosely off of one shoulder, and her sweatpants were too long for her legs, but she seemed comfortable. Mark had taken her out a few times now to get some clothes for her, but she still had an odd attachment to his old pajamas. Oversized, worn t-shirts and sweatpants he rarely wore anymore were her go-to lounge clothes, but he didn't complain. It wasn't as if he was missing them, and he'd rather her be comfortable. "She thinks that I should start writing stories. She says that I have a way with words, and I need an outlet to share them, not just a shelf in my room."

Even though she slept in his room every night, Mark had successfully converted the guest room into her little retreat. He'd taken the bed out of it, replacing the space with a huge, wrap-around desk. She liked to lock herself in there for hours during the day, calling it her "outlet time." Usually, that meant she would put on music to fit her mood and produce something - filling up her journals, making strokes on a canvas, fumbling her fingers over a keyboard. He'd witnessed all of these things, and more. It was as if her trauma had unleashed an untapped well of artistic talent inside of her. It certainly provided enough inspiration.

"I mean, you put them on the walls, too," He murmured, smirking.

She swatted at his arm, a small smile on her lips. This one was more frequent than her grins, but he liked it all the same. All of her expressions had endured an upgrade of sorts, much different from the ones he'd seen weeks before, as if she was trying very hard to keep them on her face. No, these were genuine, and now more than ever she seemed to have a will to get better.

"You know what I mean," She grumbled, laughing softly. "She asked about my progress with my instruments, too."

"How is that going?" Mark took another sip of his coffee, pulling one knee up onto the couch. He folded it against the cushion, tucking his foot under his other leg. She seemed to excited to share all of this with him, and he had to admit, he liked to listen. "I heard you practicing the guitar the other day, it sounds like it's coming along."

She nodded, clearly happy that he'd asked. "Well, I can read music for the piano now, and I'm getting better at playing with both hands. Knowing the piano helps with the guitar, but it's definitely a different learning experience." She held out her hand, showing off her raw fingertips. "My fingers hurt like hell, but it's a satisfying pain."

Mark raised a brow. "Satisfying pain?"

"No pain, no gain." She grinned, but it quickly relaxed into a relieved smile. "I just feel like I'm _doing_ something, you know? I'm not just wallowing around in misery and letting myself be helpless." She was staring thoughtfully down at the pillow, chewing her lip, as she did when she was talking about herself or her progress. "I actually feel like I'm taking my recovery into my own hands."

"You are," Mark agreed, flashing a smile that split his face from ear to ear. "I'm so proud of you." He noticed the slight pink that flushed across her cheeks, making him chuckle a little. "I know that you don't like to give yourself so much credit, but you really should. Even Lynn's surprised by how fast you're progressing."

She looked up, confused. "You've spoken to her?"

Mark nodded, setting his mug down on the coffee table. "When I dropped you off for your appointment this morning. I was heading out to the car, and she asked me to hang around for a minute before she went in with you."

That had caught her attention, and she was hanging on his every word. "What did she say?"

"She just talked about how remarkable you are. I think she's genuinely impressed with you." He wasn't sugar-coating it, not that there was any need to. The specialist had nothing but good things to say about (Y/N). "Lynn said that most of her patients with...similar traumas...take a lot longer to recover. She kept talking about how they build shells for themselves, and the first few months of her treatment is solely about helping them come out of them. But you, she says, never really built a shell. You just... _blossomed._ "

This was a smile he hadn't seen before. It was shy, but also...relieved? _Proud,_ even? "She really thinks so?"

"Yeah," He murmured, matching her smile. "I do too. I mean it, we're all so proud."

That seemed to make her happy, and he was glad. "I've had a good support system." Suddenly, a switch flipped, and she rushed down the hallway without a word.

"(Y/N)?" Mark followed after her, confused. She wasn't in his room, so he figured she was upstairs, in her room. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine, one second!" So she was upstairs. He followed the sound of her voice, coming upon her bedroom door, which was slightly ajar.

She was inside, ruffling through stacks of journals and sketchbooks, clearly looking for something. Mark hesitated in the doorway, figuring he didn't want to intrude on her space. "What are you doing?" He asked, looking at her curiously.

She didn't look up. "Trying to find...-" She crouched, digging through a drawer. "Here!" When she stood, there was a moleskin journal in here hands, very obviously worn around the binding. "Come here." She motioned for him to come in, making her way around her desk. She had chairs all around the room, and she made it very clear that she wanted him to take a seat on the couch by the corner, under the window.

He did as he was bid, and after a few seconds, she joined him. "What is it?"

She pushed the journal into his hands, beckoning him to flip through it. "Some poems. Songs...maybe?"

He shot her a look, wanting to be absolutely sure that this was okay. When she didn't refuse him, he turned the cover, eyes hungrily taking in her handwriting. The first page held a poem, short and sweet, and...no, not sweet. Very sad, actually, but a beautiful kind of sad. Exactly what he'd expect from the depths of her mind. After all, trauma was her muse.

"These are old poems..." She murmured, guiding his fingers to a page closer to the end of the journal. "Read this one, tell me what you think."

He did, and when he finished, his heart was in his throat. "It's...wow."

"Wow?" She tried to meet his gaze, but he was still staring at the page. "Good wow? Or... _bad_ wow?"

"Just... _wow."_ He looked up at her, and then back at the page. "I had no idea that you could write this way."

"What way?" She was looking at him strangely. He knew that she wanted him to like it, and he did, if one could call it that.

"The way you word things, it's...beautiful. Extremely _sad,_ but beautiful." He read over the page again, trying his best to keep a handle on his emotions. It was little things like this that made him fall apart for her all over again, just wanting to wrap her up and shield her from any further harm. Her hand writing was delicate and light, but her words were heavy. It was very abstract, but he got the basic concept. Her words begged the question of what it's like to lose pieces of your mind and humanity, until you're nothing but a husk of who you once were. He knew that she'd written it about her time in captivity. "Is this a song or a poem?"

She was quiet for a second, letting his words sink in. "Well, it was a poem, originally."

"But?" He could practically _hear_ the word hanging in the air.

"Well, just listen." Hesitantly, she left his side, making her way to the piano on their right. (Y/N) sat down on the bench, fingers hovering over notes he didn't know the name of. Then, all at once, she was playing, serenading him with a string of haunting chords. They matched the words perfectly, he noted, and the overall experience was a moving one.

Just as he began to commend her, a soft sound escaped her lips. She was singing, something he'd never heard before, and it was, quite literally, music to his ears. Her voice was unlike anything he'd ever heard, and the way she sang her words, filled with raw emotion, touched him in foreign ways. It was almost as if she stopped as soon as he'd started, and he couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed.

"What...um...do you think?" She was fiddling with her fingers, watching him in a way that begged his approval. He didn't have to soften his response to spare her feelings, for he was completely, _genuinely_ impressed.

"That was...-"

"Please don't say 'wow' again." She let out a nervous chuckle, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

He laughed along with her, shaking his head. "I was going to say beautiful. I had no idea you could sing like that."

She was blushing again. "I...I mean, it's not like I'm...er.."

"Don't worry, I'm not trying to kiss your ass, I'm just at a loss for words." Mark offered her a warm smile, extending her journal out to her.

She took it, hesitant fingers closing the cover. "You really liked it?"

"I did. It was just so... _raw,_ you know? That's the kind of song that people need to hear." He looked at her thoughtfully. "It's not like that emotionless garbage that they play everywhere now."

She hugged her journal against her chest, practically beaming. "Maybe you can help me, then."

He raised a brow. "How's that?"

"I...I want to record it. The song, I mean. I want to share it." She smiled sheepishly, clearly a little embarrassed about asking. "And you know how to use all of that tech stuff, obviously."

He sat back on the couch, crossing his arms. After a few seconds, he grinned, granting her an enthusiastic nod. "Of course I'll help you, (Y/N)."

She looked down at her feet, chewing on her lip. "Thank you." Her voice was soft now. "I was scared you'd think I was...um-"

"I'd think you were what?" Mark frowned, bracing his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward.

"Well, since you do YouTube, and I asked you to help, I didn't want you to think that I was..." She glanced up at him, oddly timid, "I don't know, _using_ _you,_ I guess?"

Mark quickly shook his head. "No, I'd never think that, don't worry." He stood, offering her a hand. Much to his surprise, she took it, pulling herself to her feet. "But, just because I think it deserves to be heard, I'm going to post the video. If you say it's okay, of course."

The color drained out of her face, giving him pause. She stood there for a few seconds, steadying her breathing, before looking up at him. "You'd do that?" She asked, voice small.

He knew that she was scared he'd think she was taking advantage of his channel's success, so he quickly went about reassuring her. "Of course I would." He smiled. "Besides, I'm the one that offered, so you don't have to worry it. I know you're not some mastermind that's been living in my house and warming up to me just to hop on the success train a month later."

She laughed a little, making him release the breath he'd been holding. "That you know of." She said quietly, winking.

Mark beamed. "If it's true, you should really pursue a career in acting. You'd be a hit."

"You think so?" She knew he was being sarcastic, as was she, and it made him smile. Lately, they'd been engaging in this same type of banter, as he did with a lot of his friends. It was just a testament to how well she was doing. Two weeks ago, he'd never heard her laugh, or crack a joke of her own. Now, they joked as if they'd been friends for years, and for some reason he couldn't name, it actually felt as though they had. Something about her made him feel so at home, like he had a rhyme and a reason for everything he did, but at the same time, didn't have to. He actually _really_ enjoyed having her around.

"Maybe that can be your next project." Mark nudged her with his elbow, watching her reaction closely. As of last week, she no longer flinched when he touched her, and she'd even begun to initiate the occasional hug or subtle touch. A few days ago, he'd even caught _her_ passing the pillow barrier while she was dead asleep, resting a hand of his chest as if subconsciously checking to make sure that he was still there.

"Maybe it will." She nudged him back, briefly interrupting the conversation to shower Chica in attention. She accepted it lovingly, pressing her nose against (Y/N)'s cheek. (Y/N) giggled, kissing the retriever softly on the head. "You're so sweet, Chica-bica."

"She likes you more than me," Mark grumbled, pouting. He head into his bedroom, grabbing his camera off of his desk. He also grabbed his mic, being sure he had all of the correct plugs, and tucked his laptop under his arm.

She waited for him in the doorway, brow raised. "She likes everyone more than you."

"Wow, _ouch,"_ He chuckled, pressing a hand over his heart as if she'd wounded him. "You're probably right."

"Nah, she loves her dad."

"Thanks for the reassurance." He made a show of setting up all of the stuff in her room, being sure to point the camera in a well-placed side-view of the piano. "I dunno, she just has this _thing_ with you, you know? She adores you."

Sure enough, Chica was stuck to (Y/N)'s side, following her closely at her heels. "Yeah, I guess she does." He watched as she bent down, giving his dog another kiss on the forehead. "She's probably just tired of all of the testosterone."

Mark laughed. "But Matt and Ryan don't live here anymore."

(Y/N) shot him a serious look, but he could see the smile she was desperately trying to smother. "And she's still getting used to having room to breath. Three men and two male pets, being the only girl? I can see why she'd latch on to me."

He shook his head, grinning. "You're unbelievable. Like I said, try acting." As he set up the microphone, he glanced over at her. "On second thought, you're too melodramatic."

She swatted at his arm, laughing. "I'll just do soap operas then."

"Not _that_ melodramatic. You're just _right_ in the middle, too dramatic for normal film, but not dramatic enough for a soap opera. Completely useless to the Hollywood industry."

"Hey!" She swatted him again and tucked her arms together at her chest. "I'll have you know, any movie would be lucky to have me."

"Yeah, they would. I'd have trouble sharing your attention, though." He glanced up at her, noticing her facial expression change. Mark realized that he'd said his thought out loud and froze, releasing a small string of apologetic stutters.

"No, it's okay." She said quietly, taking her seat at the piano. After a few seconds of silence, her excited aura returned. "Ready to film this thing?"

He flashed her a smile, though he was still reeling from his own comment. "Ready as ever."


	9. Chapter 9

Needless to say, his fans had been so excited when he'd announced that he'd be posting a surprise third video for the day. When they'd discovered that his video was of a random girl they'd never seen before, all hell broke loose. His twitter feed hadn't exploded like this in a long time - he had too many notifications to count, and it seemed like every other post was someone asking him about who she was.

Overall, though, it seemed like people really enjoyed her song.

She was crouching behind the couch, watching from over his shoulder as he scrolled through the comments. "What are they saying?"

"Well, there's a lot of confusion as to who you are and why I have a video of you singing, but I think they really like it." He came upon one particular comment that he'd liked. "Listen to this one. 'Though I'm as confused as everyone else...this is really good !! Is she gonna post this song somewhere where we can download it ?????'"

(Y/N) came around the edge of the couch as he read, anxiously taking a seat next to him. "Should I?" She asked timidly, looking at him.

Mark grinned. "I'd buy it." He continued scrolling, emitting a soft chuckle as more confusion flicked across his screen. "Wow, they really want to know who you are."

"Why?" She tilted her head, frowning.

"They get like this any time I make a video with a girl," He assured her, hoping he wouldn't freak her out. She wasn't very familiar with his fanbase, and he hated the thought of thrusting her head first into the chaos. "It bugs them when I hang out with people they don't know."

"Oh," Was all she said.

Mark frowned. "Are you okay?"

She looked up at him, nodding slowly. "So you... _didn't_ tell them about our...situation?"

"No, of course not." He locked his phone, sliding it back into his pocket. "It wasn't my story to tell, and considering how crazy they can get sometimes, I didn't want to throw you under the bus. I figured you'd want your privacy, and I didn't want to have to answer a bunch of questions about it."

She looked relieved. "T-thank you." (Y/N) turned back to him, smiling. "I guess I just figured that you shared everything with them. That's really considerate of you."

"Like I said," Mark murmured, shrugging, "It isn't my story to tell."

She was quiet for a second. "You can, though." Her words were quiet, timid. "I mean, not all of it, but just a little bit. If it helps out with all of the confusion."

Mark thought on her words for a moment, chewing his lip indecisively. "You know what?" He stood, offering her a hand. "I'm going to go get a suitcase, and then I want you to put a few day's worth of clothes inside and anything you might need within the next week."

Her face transformed almost immediately - confusion, worry... _hurt?_

 _Oh god, she thinks I'm kicking her out._ "No, no, it's nothing like that, I promise." He helped her up, placing a hand on either of her shoulders. She visibly relaxed, offering him a sheepish smile. "I just think that you need to get out of the house, you know?" Mark studied her face for a second. "One of my buddies, Wade, invited me back home to do a livestream this weekend, but I turned him down. Now that I think about it, this could be good for us."

She raised her eyebrows. "Cincinnati? Livestream?" She looked confused. "What are you talking about?"

Mark chuckled. "Every now and then, some of my friends and I get together and just play games for a few hours. We record it live, and fans watch it. We all hang out, fans ask questions, we answer them. It's a fun time." He smiled. "Besides, my friends are dying to meet you, and I think it would benefit you to see a new environment for a little while."

She chewed at her lip, mulling it over. After a few seconds of silence, the corners of her mouth turned upward into a small, nervous smile. "Okay," She whispered, nodding, "I'll do it."

\------------

"Now I know that there's a lot of people here, but just remember, I'll be right next to you the whole time, okay?" Mark secured them a bench in the waiting area, turning to her with a serious expression on his face. "Are you sure that you can do this?"

She nodded eagerly, that nervous smile tugging at her lips once more. Sighing in relief, Mark did his best to align their luggage next to the bench in a way that it wouldn't fall over. He'd packed two suitcases - a smaller one for his clothing and necessary items, and the other for his portable recording set-up. He also had a carry-on bag with his laptop, all of his chargers, and an external hard-drive. She'd only packed one suitcase, but she clung to a large knap-sack filled with her journals and art surprise. She had told him this morning that she was hoping the new environment would give her some new inspiration.

As they sat there waiting for their plane to begin boarding, Mark couldn't help but notice the eyes on them. It wasn't _too_ significant, but there were definitely a few people around that recognized him. Judging by how popular his last video had been, probably her, too. She seemed to have noticed too, and she'd been clinging to his arm since they'd gotten out of airport security. He didn't mind, though.

"Alright, come on, kiddo." He stood as they announced that their plane was boarding, bringing her up with him.

She looked at him, laughing softly. "Kiddo? You're two years older than me."

"Exactly, I'm _older,_ therefor you are a _kiddo_ to _me._ " He grinned, enjoying the way her face shriveled up into a mock pout. "Oh, stop it. Come on."

She released his arm and settled for wrapping her hands around the straps of her bag, following carefully behind him. When they were safely seated inside the plane and he'd tucked his bag under the seat in front of him, Mark turned to her, a grin on his face.

"Are you excited?"

"Yeah, I'm excited," She admitted, fiddling with her fingers. "Nervous, but excited."

Mark just looked at her. "What are you nervous about?"

"I just...I dunno, I feel like I'm imposing." She was staring down at her hands now, her voice quiet. "You're going to have a good time with your buddies, and I'm just tagging along because you can't leave me home alone."

Mark frowned, lifting her chin with his hand. "You are _not_ imposing, don't say that. I wasn't even going to go on this trip. I'm going _because_ of you." He offered her his best reassurance of a smile, trying his best to make her stop degrading herself. It was a bad habit that he well intended to break. "Besides, all of my friends are anxious to meet you."

She smiled softly. _Victory._ "How much do they know about me?"

He thought for a second, trying his best to answer her question. "Well, they heard about all of this the night you came home from the hospital. I talked to them while you were sleeping." He frowned. "I didn't mean to invade your privacy, but they were worried about why I'd been absent and wanted to know what was going on. I didn't give them all of the details, but when it hit the news, they pieced it together."

She nodded, placing a hand on his arm. "It's okay. I wouldn't have wanted you to lie to your friends just for me."

He chuckled, leaning back in his seat. "They've asked about you a lot, you know. They're good guys, and they like to make sure you're doing well." He glanced over at her, raising a brow. "They ask more about you than they do about me."

"Does everyone in your life like me more than you?" She asked, giggling. "First Chica, now all of your friends? I'm so popular."

He jutted out his lip, doing his best to look wounded. "This was your plan all along. To take from me those that I hold dearest."

She was giggling again. He loved the sound. "You caught me."

Mark just shook his head, trying to smother a smile. "This is a betrayal I might never recover from." He started to respond, but just then, a flight attendant began the typical pre-flight monologue, instructing them how to behave during emergency procedures and teaching them about the areas of the plane.

When he glanced over, (Y/N) was sitting anxiously in her seat, eyes glued to the window. He figured that she probably wasn't used to flying, so he linked his arm through hers, offering her an encouraging smile. She returned it, resting her head against his shoulder.

"I think you're right," She whispered up at him, trying her best not to interrupt the flight attendant, "I think a little change will be good for me."

Mark felt his chest swell with pride. "I'm glad you think so." His eyes fell down to hers, but she'd closed them. He didn't bother trying to add anything - sleeping through the flight would help to ease her nerves, and he knew that she needed the rest. She'd had a rocky time the night before, and though he'd managed to get her to fall asleep again, it had taken a few hours.

Smiling, Mark leaned his head back against the seat, leaning slightly into her weight. As much as he said that this trip was for her and the livestream, a selfish part of him just wanted an excuse to take her on a special trip, just the two of them. Even if they'd be spending a lot of time with his family and his friends, he didn't mind - she'd be even more immersed into the parts of his life that he usually kept reserved, and the thought alone was enough to make him grin.

Most importantly, she was going to see his hometown. His roots, his mother. Meet the friends he'd had for years. The thought of mixing this unpredictable new part of his life with the stability and warmth of his life from Cincinnati was absolutely thrilling, and he knew he'd love every second of it.

 


	10. Chapter 10

"Yeah, we'll head over in a few minutes." Mark tucked his phone into his pocket, turning to look at you. Something about the look in his eyes was patient, as if he was expecting you to do something.

"What?" You asked, chewing on your lip.

"Are you sure you're up for this?" He studied your face. "We don't have to do it. I know you said you were, but I'm just going to warn you - the fans will probably freak out a little when they see you, and there will be a lot of questions. Wade and Bob can get a little rowdy, too, so it might get a little loud. All of that considered, are you still on board?"

You fidgeted anxiously for a second, letting his words sink in. "Yes, I can handle it." As long as you had something familiar to cling to - as of late, it had been his arm - you knew you'd do alright. Worse came to worse, you could just sit quietly off camera and watch, or go into another room.

He let out a breath of relief. You knew he'd been stressing over this since you'd gotten off of the plane. "Alright."

The night before had been a blur of events, both excited and nerve-racking. His mother was such a sweet woman, and she'd welcomed you without hesitation into her arms _and_ home. She'd even prepared a huge dinner to welcome everyone back home, and you'd enjoyed the two hours you'd spent conversing with his family at the table. His brother looked a lot like him, but they were different in personalities. Where Mark was talkative and outgoing, Tom was more reserved and thoughtful of his words. Both were incredibly sweet, though, and you could tell that Tom shared Mark's generous streak.

Breakfast had been on the table when you'd woken up, and despite the odd environment and hasty change, you'd slept through the night. When the sun had come creeping through your window, you'd woken feeling refreshed. It was a feeling that had been absent from your sleep for a long time. Everyone else had been awake already - much to your surprise - but they'd graciously waited for you. You ate breakfast as a group, and you were careful to note how absolutely _delicious_ his mother's cooking was, and then Mark had taken you out for a bit, to explore his town.

Now, it was three o'clock, and the two of you were headed for Wade's house to start the stream. You were fidgeting in your seat, unable to keep your fingers still. Despite his reassurances, you couldn't help but worry that you'd mess the stream up somehow, or intrude on his reunion with his friends. The thought of them prodding you for details was there, too, but from his descriptions of them, they didn't sound like those sort of people.

He'd mentioned that his only other friend who knew of what was going on, Jack, wasn't able to make this stream, but he wanted to visit L.A. sometime soon. He sounded like a nice guy, and you'd seen bits and pieces of him from videos before, so you looked forward to a fresh face around the house.

"(Y/N)?" Mark's voice drew you from your thoughts. "We're here."

You leaned forward, studying the house through the windshield. It was cute, and you had to admit, you _really_ liked the town. "Is Bob here yet?"

"Yeah, he's been here for an hour. They're about to start up the stream, though, so we should hurry."

Mark got out of the car, and you did the same, hugging your bag closely to your chest. You carried it with you everywhere, just in case you had a random epiphany or spark of inspiration. Not to mention, if you needed something to clear your mind, one of the many hobbies you carried in your bag usually helped. As he led you inside, you tried your best to keep your breathing steady, eyes cautiously taking in your surroundings. The house was roomy and inviting, which made you feel better.

"Look who finally showed up," A voice said from the hallway. A very tall man stood there, holding his arms out to Mark, who briefly embraced him.

"Hey, Wade. Sorry we're late." Mark motioned for you to come closer, and the two of you followed Wade into the living room. There was another tall man in there, as well as a short blonde woman, but both wore friendly smiles. Mark approached the other tall guy, giving him a hug as well, and then moved on to the woman. He stepped back finally, slinging a lazy arm around your shoulders. "Guys, this is (Y/N)."

"Hey, I'm Bob." The tall one with the glasses extended a hand to you, which you took, giving him a timid shake. "Nice to finally meet you. We've all heard a lot about you."

"Yeah, but you're a lot prettier than Mark let on." Molly smiled, pulling you into a hesitant hug. The way she spoke was soft and friendly, and you found that you almost felt calmer, knowing she'd be here too. "it's nice to have another girl around. There's too much testosterone when it's just me and these three." She giggled, and it was absolutely contagious. Wade slung an arm around her waist, drawing her into his side. She must've been his girlfriend then.

"I'm Wade, but you probably knew that already." Wade looked up in a mock-pride way, before laughing and flashing you a smile, as well as another handshake. "Just kidding. Make yourself at home, we're just about to start."

"I'll grab the snack tray." Molly pulled herself away from Wade and started towards the kitchen, before stopping to look at you. "Would you like to help me, while these goofballs get the stream started?"

Your breath caught momentarily, and Mark must've noticed, cause he placed a hand on your arm. After a moment of studying her gentle features and warm smile, you nodded, giving Mark a reassuring look. "I'll be fine." You smiled at Molly and followed after her, studying the room as you went.

"So, I wasn't really sure what you like, so I just picked up a bunch of generic snacks. I hope that's okay." Molly stopped next to the kitchen island, motioning to a large pan, of which was filled with heaps of various junk food. "See anything you like?"

You grinned, taking note of a very familiar package. Your favorite, actually. "Yeah, I do," You said quietly, "Do you think they'd mind if I hogged one all to myself?"

She laughed, winking. "We just won't tell them."

You were enjoying how friendly she was, and you knew that Wade and Bob would be just as inviting from how they'd received you. You watched as she began to pull a few two-liters from the pantry, propping them up on the counter next to the tray.

"Can you grab the drinks, and I'll get the tray?" She asked, tossing a bag of solo cups on top of all of the food.

You nodded, wrapping your arms around the three bottles in a way that made sure they were secure, and followed her back out to the living room. The boys had already started up the stream, and from the looks of it, people were already watching. As you set the bottles down on the coffee table and glanced at the screen, you realized that it was a _lot_ of people.

"Wow, already?" You breathed, slightly entranced by the growing number.

"I know, it's like they were waiting or something." Mark let out a chuckle from behind you, and you felt a soft grip form around your wrist. He gently pulled you over to the couch, where he'd saved a space for you, next to the arm. Bob was on his other side, and next to him, Wade. Molly sat in a chair off to Wade's right, a bowl of popcorn already perched on top of her legs.

You began to dive for your favorite snack, and found that someone's fingers had beat you there. _Mark._

"Oh, great minds think alike," He murmured, grinning at you. He snatched the bag up, quickly tucking it on his other side, out of your reach. 

"Hey!" You protested, trying to reach around him and reclaim your stolen prize. He deflected your attempts, though, which only made you try harder.

After a few more pathetic attempts and protests, he began laughing, reluctantly handing you the bag. "Fine," He murmured, "But only if you _share."_

You thought on it for a second, eyes narrowed. "Fine."

He grinned proudly. "Well, I say we kick off the stream by answering some questions, and then we'll play some games. Sound good, everyone?" Wade and Bob heartily agreed, so Mark reached over you, snatching up the computer and setting it on his lap. "Alright, question number-oh, wow, lots of them. Hm...Oh, here we go. 'Who's that girl?""

The others began to laugh, but you didn't get why. "Wait, me?"

"Yes, you." Mark glanced up at you, grinning, before returning his gaze to the camera. "She's a good friend, here to help out with the stream. (Y/N), say hi!" He turned the camera your way, smiling like an idiot.

You lifted a hand reluctantly, giving an awkward wave. "Hi everyone." Your voice was timid, and you silently cursed yourself for it, wishing you could be more outgoing, like Mark.

"Next one is for...Wade! How are you and Molly doing?" Mark pointed the camera at them this time, brows raised.

Molly took the initiative to lean over towards her boyfriend, kissing him sweetly on the temple. "We're great everyone, don't worry! He's still as big of a doof as ever." Wade just laughed, kissing her cheek.

"I'm your doof," He murmured, earning a giggle from his girlfriend and melodramatic barfing noises from Wade.

"Let me read the next one." Bob skillfully ushered the laptop away from Mark, adjusting his glasses so that he could see the screen. "Let's see...'Mark, isn't that the girl from your video earlier this week?'" Bob turned to him, looking slightly puzzled. "Do they mean the singing one, or was she in something else?"

"The singing one." Mark laughed, nodding at the camera. "Sure is, everyone. I'm afraid she probably won't be doing any live singing for you though, she's a little shy."

You blushed, trying your best to hide your face in the fabric of your shirt. Mark just chuckled, turning the camera back towards Bob. As Bob and Wade began to answer more questions and mumble something about starting up a game, Mark looked at you, a happy grin gracing his lips. "How is this? Are you having a good time so far?"

You thought on it for a second before nodding. "Yeah, they're all so nice," You whispered, trying not to interrupt the other three, whom were in a heated debate over what to play. "It's less... _stressful_ than I thought it would be."

He was clearly happy with your answer. "I'm so glad," He murmured, leaning a little closer. "I was worried that it might be too much all at once, but I'm proud of you. You're handling it really well."

You smiled again, looking down at your hands. "Thanks, Mark."

"Anytime, kiddo." He winked, returning his attention to Bob, who was handing him a controller. "Alright, men, prepare to get crushed."


	11. Chapter 11

As the day wore on, Mark couldn't help but notice how relaxed she was. She chatted casually with his friends, particularly Molly, and had even picked up a controller once or twice. When mention of her circumstances had come up, which Mark had tried his best to keep a cap on, she'd handled it fairly well and even opened up to them a little. He knew that the three of them were polite enough not to push, and it seemed like her answers were enough to satisfy them. They all seemed pretty fond of each other. He loved it.

The stream had ended an hour ago, and Molly had graciously offered to make them some drinks. Mark had declined, due to health reasons, but to his surprise, (Y/N) had accepted. And finished it. And accepted another. After four drinks and a few solid rounds of off-camera gaming, Mark had carefully helped her to the car and thanked Wade and Molly for having them, promising to see the once more before they left.

She was sitting on the counter now, watching him as he went about cleaning up the kitchen. His mother had turned in early, and Tom was out catching up with some friends, so they had the house to themselves, for the most part. His mother was a deep sleeper, so he didn't really fret over his volume level.

"Do you have...someicecream?" She slurred, leaning her head against the cabinet to her right.

He looked up from the pan he was cleaning, trying to remember if they did. His mother wasn't a huge fan of sweets, but he knew she went a little crazy with the grocery shopping when her sons came home. Setting the pan down, he rummaged carefully through the freezer, managing to find a tub of french vanilla. "Is vanilla okay?"

She nodded, "Sure is." He watched as she scooted forward, trying to lower herself off the counter, and put a hand on her shoulder to halt her progress. "What?" She asked, rolling her head back to look at him.

"Stay put, you're too drunk to fix it yourself." He noticed the slight shift in her expression, and gently added, "Don't worry, I'll get it for you."

Satisfied, she returned to her spot and pulled her knees up to her chest, watching his deft hands work. "Thanks, Mar-moo."

The way she butchered his nickname was cute, and he couldn't help but smile. "Of course." He carefully used a spoon to get a few solid scoops into a mug before sticking it in and handing the cup to her.

She fumbled for it, finally managing to secure it between her hands. He watched as she clumsily brought the spoon to her mouth, delivering a glob of ice cream onto her tongue. "I luff vaniya," She mumbled around the food in her mouth, smiling sweetly at him.

Mark grabbed for a napkin, wiping at the ice cream that she'd smeared across her cheek. She just looked at him, chewing thoughtfully, and took another bite. This one was less clumsy, and she managed to get it into her mouth without getting it on her face. "That's good," He said, returning to the pan. As he scrubbed at the solidified food on the bottom, he kept a watchful eye on her. 

In all honesty, he didn't like that she'd drunk so much. In other circumstances, he wouldn't have minded, seeing as how he was completely sober and able to take care of her, but the thought of her stumbling around a foreign house without her wits was alarming. Not to mention, his mother's medication cabinet did _not_ have a padlock, and as much as he believed she wouldn't do something like that, the idea was there. He'd safely hidden her sleeping pills with his stuff, but had she wanted to, she easily could've found something just as dangerous.

When he finished the pan, he quickly put it away, anxious to keep her in his sights. When he turned back around, she must've finished her ice cream, for she'd set it down next to her leg. There was another smear of ice cream on her pants, and though he tried to wipe at it, she'd made a pretty big stain. "Jesus, (Y/N), you're making a mess."

She giggled softly. "Sorry, Mar-moo."

There was that name again. He couldn't help but laugh in return. "I'm going to go grab you a pair of pajamas, and I'll bring them back down to you, okay?" He knew she'd fall flat on her ass if he tried to get her up the stairs, so he figured he'd rest on the couch with her until she'd sobered up a bit, and then they'd go from there.

She just nodded, blinking groggily at him. Mark quickly jogged up the steps, thankful that his mother had fixed the creak in the middle section, and bee-lined for his room. Inside, he went about searching through his suitcase, finally finding the old clothes he'd stashed at the bottom. He knew that she preferred them to sleep in, so he grabbed a worn t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, quickly making his way back down the stairs.

When he started down the steps, he heard a loud crash, and then a soft thump. Heart racing, Mark flew down the steps and into the kitchen, eyes searching wildly for where she'd gone. She wasn't on the counter anymore, but when he came around the bar and into the room, he realized quickly that she was on the floor.

The crashing sound had been a glass on the counter - she must've accidentally knocked it over trying to get down.

"Here, let me hel-" He stopped cold, noticing the blood.

(Y/N)'s shoulders were shuddering, and when he stopped moving, he could hear soft sobs escaping her lips. She was frantically trying to pick up the pieces of the glass, and in doing so, had managed to cut her hands on the sharp pieces. When she heard his voice, she began to pick up pieces faster, which only made the bleeding worse.

"Honey, no, _stop,"_ Mark crouched beside her, carefully taking her hands between his and removing the shards from her grasp. She looked up at him, eyes glistening with tears.

"I'm so sorry," She mumbled, voice marred slightly by her drunken slur, "I didn't mean to, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, shhh," He carefully removed the glass from her hands, thankful that the cuts were nothing serious, and stood to throw them away. When he turned around again, she'd backed into the corner, staring down at her bloody hands.

"I'm so sorry," She sobbed, looking up at him, "It was an accident, I swear, I didn't mean to."

Mark reached down to soothe her, to place a hand on her head and tell her it was alright, but she flinched away from his touch, sobs growing. The realization dawned on him, taking his breath away and making his heart leap to his throat. She thought that he was going to _hit_ her.

"No, oh god, no," He breathed, crouching in front of her, "Please don't be scared, I'm not going to hurt you." Just the fact that she'd thought it, even for a moment, was enough to break his heart.

She sniffled, clutching her bleeding hands to her chest. Something in her clicked, and she met his gaze again, trying her best to wipe at her tears. It only smeared blood on her cheek. "I...I know you're not, I'm-" She sobbed again. "I'm so sorry. I'm so stupid." Her voice had returned to the same timid tone he'd heard the first week she'd come home. "He used to get so mad when I broke things, and you moved your hand really fast, I thought-"

"Come here." Mark's words were soft, as if he were speaking to a child whom had just had a nightmare. He used her shoulders to pull her into his chest, running his fingers gently across her hair. "Please, don't _ever_ think that I would hit you, or hurt you in any way. _Ever."_

She sobbed against his chest, her tears leaving stains in the fabric of his t-shirt, but he didn't mind. "I'm so sorry," She mumbled again.

"Shh, it's alright," He rocked her gently back and forth, his arms securely wrapped around her shoulders, "I'm not mad at you."

That seemed to give her some relief, and as he continued to stroke her hair, she relaxed a little. When he was sure that she had calmed down, he drew back, carefully grasping her hands between his own. "Let's go get these bandaged up, okay?"

She sniffled, nodding. "O-okay."

As he led her towards the bathroom, he noticed that her balance seemed to be a little better, and she was more responsive. The panic of breaking the glass and cutting her hands must've sobered her up a little. When he finally managed to get her into the bathroom, he set her up on the counter and went about hunting down the first aid kit under the sink. It only took a few minutes, and while he looked, he had her rinse her hands off in the water.

When she was finished, Mark checked to make sure that there weren't any pieces of glass left in her skin. Thankfully, he'd gotten all of them out before, and the cuts were significantly smaller than he'd first thought. _No stitches, thank god._ With as gentle of a touch as he could muster, Mark began to bandage her hands, making sure to cover all of the little cuts and slices. It only took a short moment before she was good as new.

"There," he murmured, leaning back a little, "All better. Do they hurt?"

She sniffled, shaking her head. "No." The word was soft and pitiful.

"That's good." Mark stood there for a moment, studying her face, before he reached his hands up to cup her cheeks. "Please, _please,_ be careful. I know it was an accident, and I don't care about the glass, but I don't know what I would've done if you'd badly injured yourself." He let out a long, deep sigh, forcing her gaze up to his.

She let him, her tearful eyes gliding up to meet his, a small, scared smile settling on her lips. "I'll be more careful, Mar-moo."

His chest rumbled with a soft chuckle as he pulled her into a secure hug, resting his chin against her temple. "Thank you, (Y/N), thank you." After a few seconds of sitting like that, he drew back, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Are you tired yet?"

She leaned into his hand, her heavy lids draping sleepily over her eyes. "Yeah."

He smiled, stroking his thumb across her cheekbone. "Come on then, kiddo. I'll take you up to bed."

As he started to help her down, she grabbed his wrist, looking up at him. "Mark?" She mumbled, chewing her lip. "Can you carry me?"

He couldn't hide the small smile that her question pulled out of him. "Of course I can, kiddo." He turned around, bending at the waist in an open invitation for her to climb onto his back. She did so, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and resting her head in the crook of his neck.

He carefully led her out of the bathroom and through the kitchen, trying his best to keep it from being a bumpy ride. As he started up the stairs, he heard a sleepy mumble into the fabric on his shoulder, "Thanks, Mar-moo."

He smiled like an idiot, adjusting the weight of her legs around his waist. As quietly as he could, he carried her down to his old bedroom, propping the door open with his foot. Though she was very obviously sleepy - which he liked, because it meant she wouldn't need a sleeping pill - she managed to slide off of his back and stumble her way to the bed. She didn't, however, manage to get into it.

Mark laughed, coming around to her side so that he could help her shift into the right place. He then pulled the blankets up to her shoulders, tucking it in around her sides. "How's that?" He asked, heading around to his side. He settled in next to her - on the other side of the makeshift pillow barrier, of course - his eyes trained solely on her face.

She was quiet for a second. He figured she was probably asleep. Sighing, he reached over to turn off the lamp and then curled up, pulling the blanket over himself as well. As Mark made himself more comfortable, he heard a soft mumble from her side of the bed. "What?" He asked, unsure of what she'd said.

She rolled over just enough to look at him over her shoulder, rubbing tiredly at her eyes. "Can...C-can we _not_ use the pillows in the middle tonight?" She asked timidly, not meeting his eyes. "It's just that...I have nightmares when I drink, and...I-I just was wondering if we could get rid of them just this once and you could-"

He smiled, grabbed the wall of pillows and promptly placing them on the floor. It seemed to make her smile, and as she lay back down, she scooted back a little bit. Towards him.

"Are you sure this is okay?" He asked softly, studying the curve of her shoulder.

She glanced back at him again. "Mar-moo?"

He chuckled, propping himself up on his elbow so that he could see her face. "Yes?"

She met his eyes this time, and a soft smile spread across her lips. "Can you hold me?"

It caught him off guard, and he nearly choked on his own air. He remembered the last time that had happened, and though she'd _asked_ for it, he didn't want her to have the same reaction. "Are you sure? Last time-"

"I'll be okay." She let out a soft breath, rolling over to face him. "I just...I feel better when you hold me." She looked up from where she'd been staring at her hands, eyes matching his. "I feel safer."

He let out the breath he'd been holding, his head bobbing in a soft nod. "Of course I can hold you," He said at last, shifting closer to her. Hesitantly, she leaned her forehead against his chest, tucking her arms between the two of them. Mark did so with his right arm, but he draped his left arm across her waist, drawing her closer. She let out a small sigh of relief, relaxing in his grasp.

"Goodnight, (Y/N)," he murmured, his chin coming to rest on top of her head. He liked the warmth of her, the feeling of her soft breaths on his chest. "Please, don't hesitate to wake me if you need me. For _anything,_ okay?"

She nodded against his shirt. "Okay." After a few seconds of silence, she curled up against him, giving him more room to pull her close. As his eyelids rolled closed, he heard a soft, "Goodnight, Mar-moo."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I had a BLAST writing this chapter - mostly because these two are FINALLY beginning to get all fluffy and cute. I love all of your feedback about the story, and trust me, I read every comment! Thank you all so much for sticking with the story :-)


	12. Chapter 12

It had been a month and a half since he'd taken her to see his friends in Cincinnati, and she'd been blossoming since. She slept through the night almost _every_ night, and they no longer used the pillow barrier. When he woke up, she was always waiting for him, a bright smile on her face. She liked to make breakfast, she said - it was a way of giving back to him, for all he'd done for her. He hated to think she was waking up early just for him, but when she assured him that she wasn't, he allowed her to keep doing it.

She'd also continued making music, too, and eventually, Mark had helped her create a channel so that he could stop overloading his own with the videos. He was proud of her, beyond a doubt, but he knew the mixed content was confusing some of his fans, and he wanted her to have a place where people came just for her. It had gotten fairly popular, and he knew that sharing her messages with her audience truly made her happy.

Something was off about this week, though. It had been small things at first - she'd started insisting on staying up after he went to bed, and she often took naps during the day. She avoided his eyes and tried her best to avoid conversation as well, even to a point where she'd go out on long runs, only coming back when she was exhausted and nearly on the verge of passing out. Then, it became larger things.

She snapped at him often, and the pits below her eyes had grown noticeably. She never had the energy for Chica, which was _very_ unlike her, and she had yet to post any videos. She was jumpy, and he felt her get out of bed a lot at night, disappearing for hours at a time. Mark was growing increasingly concerned, but any time he asked, she brushed him off.

Tonight, in particular, was the oddest she'd acted yet. She'd excused herself from dinner without taking a single bit and shut herself in her room without a word. When he'd calmly pressed his ear to the door to check on her, he'd heard faint shuffling, but that was it. No music, as she so often played when she was in there. No, not often. _Always._

Mark had been sitting on the couch when she'd finally come down, wearing her pajamas and a light sweater. "Going out?"

"Gonna go walk," She'd mumbled, avoiding his eyes.

He'd followed her to the door, trying his best to catch her gaze, but she slipped through the door before he could say anything else.

Sleepily, Mark checked his watch. She'd been out for an hour and a half now, and he was so worried that he was practically pulling his hair out. He'd called her twice, but she hadn't answered either of them. Instead, it had gone to her voicemail, and he'd left her two concerned messages, pleading with her to come back home.

Chica was staring at him, noticing how on edge he was but unsure as to why. "She'll be home soon, pup," He said, but it was more to himself than his dog. He couldn't fathom where she'd gone - even if she was on a walk, she had to have done five laps around the neighborhood by now. He knew she wouldn't have gone anywhere, at least, he _hoped_ not. He didn't like the thought of her wandering around LA by herself at 11 p.m.

"She'll be home soon."

\-------------------------------

You'd successfully walked around the neighborhood four times now, and you felt as though your legs were going to give out. It had pained you not to answer his calls, but you knew you'd been unable to answer his questions, and you didn't want to hear the worry in his voice. It was obvious that he knew something was off - he'd have to be blind not to - but you'd tried and _failed_ thousands of times to open up to him.

Finally, as you reached his driveway again, you decided it was time to go home again. You'd tired yourself out to the point of utter silence inside your head, and you knew that you would be out like a light the second you went to bed. That was your goal with these late-night walks - tire yourself out until you could just go to sleep, no pills required. You'd become wary of the little circles the doctor had you swallowing, and as much as you needed sleep, you didn't like letting those _things_ in your system anymore.

Mark was standing when you opened the door, his hair disheveled and forehead creased with worry. It hurt your chest just to look at him, if only for a brief second, so you cast your gaze down. You knew that he'd been worrying about you since you'd walked out the door, and you hated hurting him this way.

"Have a nice walk?" He asked. Something about his voice gave you pause. It wasn't quite accusing, but you knew he was biting back something else.

"Yeah," You said softly, beginning to shuffle towards the bedroom. When you passed him on the couch, his arm snaked out, fingers clasping around your wrist. "Mark-"

"No, just stop." His voice was firm, and before you could protest, he'd pulled you closer, fingers forcing your gaze up to his. "You were gone for almost two hours. Why are you going on late night walks by yourself?"

"I just wanted to walk," You said timidly, slightly put off by the intensity of his gaze. You tried to look away, but his grip on your chin strengthened, keeping your eyes right where they were.

"You want to walk every night." After boring into you with his eyes for a few more minutes, he stepped back, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. "Please, (Y/N), talk to me. What's going on?"

You sighed, eyes hitting the floor. "I'm just tired." Your voice was a mumble, and you hated how much it shook. You'd never seen this side of him, not once.

"You always say that." He ran his hands over his face. His frustration was clear, but you couldn't face him, not now. Quietly, you turned around, hoping he wouldn't stop you this time. "(Y/N), stop, I'm trying to talk to you." When you didn't answer, he let out a huff. You were almost to the bedroom when there was a soft rustling. "I said stop."

"I'm tired." You repeated.

There was the rustling again. "I found your pills."

The words sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt a small tendril of panic creeping up your throat, holding your breath hostage. How the _hell_ had he found them, unless...He'd gone through your room. Without turning around, you closed your eyes, murmuring, "You went through my room."

"I didn't." His voice sounded closer. "I was looking for the charging chord to the camera I've been letting you use. Mine broke, and I wanted to record a quick video to talk about the upcoming conventions."

You swallowed, caught. _Fuck._ "Mark-"

"No, that's enough." His hands were on your shoulders, turning you around to face him. Sure enough, in his right hand was a small plastic bag with tons of little pills inside. "Tell me what the fuck is going on. Why aren't you taking your medication?"

The demanding tone in his voice made you flinch. You stuttered for a response, but one wouldn't come. You didn't want to give into him, to tell him all about the thoughts you'd been having since last week. How swallowing medications made you feel like an alien in human skin, how staring at the prescription bottles on his counter just reminded you of how much of a burden you were. How could you _say_ any of that?

"Answer me." His fingers were on your chin again, forcing your gaze up. "For the love of christ, (Y/N), tell me. Please, clue me in."

"I...I-" You fumbled for words, but none would come.

"Why can't you tell me?" He sounded exasperated, desperate, and it was tearing you apart from the inside out. You knew that he was worried sick about you, and you knew that he would help you work through this, if you could only choke the words out, but they wouldn't come. "Please, god, just let me _help_ you."

"You help me enough," You whispered, voice small. "Don't worry about it, Mark. Please."

He wouldn't accept your answer. "Like hell I won't worry about it. You've been acting like a husk of a human being since last weekend, and I want you to explain this." He was speaking firmly again, shaking the bag of pills in your face. His other hand had yet to release your shoulder, and as much as you tried to squirm away, he held you there.

You still didn't say anything, and you could tell that he was starting to lose his temper with you. Mark pressed his lips into a firm line, abruptly abandoning your side and heading instead into the kitchen, you in tow. "You're going to take these, now."

"No!" You choked, trying your best to worm free of his grasp. He was relentless, and before you knew it, he was prying open the prescription bottles. "Mark, _please,_ let me go."

"No, dammit (Y/N), you need to take these!" He threw up his hands in exasperation briefly before bracing them on the counter, staring down at the bottles. "What the fuck is your problem?"

The volume of his voice was beginning to scare you, and you shrunk away timidly, your eyes hot. "I...I just-"

"You can't? You won't? Don't I at least deserve a straight fucking answer, after all I've done for you?" He glanced over at you then, tired eyes piercing yours.

"I...haven't asked you to do that," You murmured, wrapping your arms around yourself. You wanted to tell him, _god_ did you want to, but you knew you'd break down completely if you slipped and let him in, and you couldn't stand to think that he'd have to pick you up off of the floor _again._

Mark scowled at your words, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "No." He said firmly, rubbing at his eyes. "No, you don't get to fucking play that card. I've done _everything_ for you. I sat in that hospital for _days._ I've lost hours of sleep on you, I've come to your every beck and call. I've taken you back and forth to appointments and sessions and check ups. I've nearly ripped all of my hair out being worried as shit about you _all of the fucking time._ I've put my _life_ on hold, my career, just to make sure you were okay. I've done everything within my power to help you, and you can't even look me in the eye and give me a straight fucking answer?"

His words cut through you like a blade. You felt as though he'd just punched you in the stomach, in the chest, as if he'd set your entire being on fire and left you to burn. "I..." Your throat closed, and you choked up, but you _refused_ to let him see you cry this time. "I didn't realize I was such a burden." When you choked out the words, you watched his face contort immediately, his scowl softening and his brows furrowing with regret, but you didn't care.

Sniffling, you grabbed your phone from the counter and tucked it into your pocket, refusing to meet his eyes. He called softly after you, but the panic had a hold on you now. Without a word or second glance, you trudged out of the room, defeated. It was a painful walk up to your room, and you shut the door behind you, locking it. The lock had barely lodged into the frame before you completely lost it, ugly, violent sobs racking your body like waves.

You collapsed on the floor, back braced against the door behind you, and buried your face into your knees. Everything he'd said, about putting his entire life on hold just to ensure that you were okay, kept playing through your ears. He was absolutely right. You _were_ asking too much of him, and you'd barely lifted a finger to pay it back. This was how you repaid his generosity? By evading him, by worrying him to death and not even offering him some answers?

There was a soft knock on your door. "(Y/N)?" He sounded exhausted.

You sobbed again, trying your best to muffle it with your hands. "(Y/N), open the door." His voice sounded slightly strained. " _Please."_

Oh god, you'd fucked up. You'd deserved every word he'd said, and then you'd stormed off like a little bitch and left him to deal with it, as if it were his fault. It absolutely wasn't, but you couldn't choke back a sob long enough to respond.

He knocked again, softer this time. When you didn't reply once again, you heard heavy footsteps retreating back down to the hallway. He must've given up, and it hurt your chest to think he'd have done so that easily.

_No, you don't deserve that. He's right. You're completely fucking up his life, and you still expect him to hold you and tell you it's okay? That he's sorry? You deserved every word he said._

Your sobs took you again, and you sat like that for hours, until the night was retreating and the faintest of light was creeping into the window of your room. By the time your shudders stopped and your tears dried, you'd come to a painful conclusion. 

He didn't deserve to be put through this anymore.


	13. Chapter 13

The look on her face when he'd finished his little rant had nearly torn a hole in him. The way she'd crumpled, her eyes tearing up and shoulders sinking in defeat. He'd wanted to go after her, to pull her into his chest and say he was sorry until she looked him in the eye and knew he meant it, but he hadn't trusted any more words to come out of his mouth. He was still angry, and the thought of exploding on her again...no, he'd decided to wait until he calmed down.

He'd tried to knock on her door, but she wouldn't answer, and the door was locked. As much as he wanted to hold her, he wouldn't force his way in. He'd done enough damage for the night. So, with a heavy heart, he'd gone to bed, knowing fully well that he'd have some repairing to do in the morning. He slept terribly without her by his side, and when he did finally manage to fall asleep and _stay_ asleep, the picture of her breaking down at his words was burned prominently into his eyelids.

When he'd woken up, he could smell breakfast on the air. _So she's up, good._ Mark quickly rolled out of bed and put some sweatpants on, taking a few deep breaths to prepare himself for the coming reparations. He wondered how she'd slept, and if she'd been as restless as he had.

_Of course she did, you piece of shit. You broke her into a million pieces and left her to pick them up._

Mark sighed, rubbing his hands over his face, and head out of his bedroom. He noticed immediately how _clean_ everything was - the floor was shiny, as if someone had swept and mopped, and what had been clutter the night before was now a neat rearrangement, without a single thing out of place. The kitchen was the same way, with no dishes in the sink or on the counter, and everything had been arranged to look in order. On the table was a plate of food - the same breakfast she made every morning, with a glass of orange juice, but she was curiously absent. 

Mark looked around, confused. That's when he noticed that she'd tucked a note under the corner of his plate, folded neatly in half with his name scribbled in her pretty handwriting.

_"I'm sorry if your food is cold, I wasn't sure when you'd wake up, so I just went ahead and made it. You can always reheat it, I guess, but I know it won't be the same. I'm sorry. I cleaned up, too. Things were getting a little cluttered and I know that you don't have a lot of time on your hands because of your work, so I decided to make myself useful."_

Mark sighed, already feeling guilty. He only wished he'd woken up earlier, so that he could've stopped her from going to the trouble all by herself. 

" _I'm sorry that I've been fucking up so much lately. I know that you've been worried sick and I'm ashamed of myself for keeping you in the dark. Last night...I choked up, and I wanted to tell you, so much, Mark, but I didn't know how to. It seems like no matter what I do, even if I'm getting better, all that means for you is trouble. I've been dragging you down for months, and we both know it. You said it yourself, I've made you put everything on hold and I somehow expect you to keep doing it, without giving you anything in return. I'm evasive and untruthful, not to mention, I lead you on and avoid all of your advances. I'm so sorry, Mark, so sorry."_

He swallowed a hard lump in his throat. To think that she was really worried about him being mad at her for not being ready to hop into his arms every day made his chest tighten. 

_"So, I'm going to make this easy for you. I don't know what to do. It feels like I can't do anything right and I'm making you trade your problems for mine, and that's just fucked up. So, as hard as this is...I'm going to get out of your hair. I can't stand to watch you worry yourself to death over me, and I KNOW you want so badly to fix me, but you're hurting yourself in the process. I care about you too much to let that happen. So I'm gone, and you won't have to worry about me anymore. I know you still will, because you're you, but I promise, I'll be okay. Maybe when I'm not this black hole of emotional baggage and responsibility, I can come back into your life again. I just can't let myself do this to you anymore. I'm sorry."_

His cheeks were wet by the time he finished, and he felt his heart sink to his feet. Chica ran over in concern, but he pushed her off, crumpling to the floor. He read over the note again, twice, three times, trying to understand. He couldn't understand why she'd resort to _this,_ to leaving, when she could barely take care of herself. In a pathetic sense of hope, he glanced up to where her medications were kept, and noticed the two bottles painfully present. She'd left her medication.

"Fuck." Mark whispered, pulling himself to his feet. "Fuck!"

He pulled out his phone from his pocket, panicked fingers dialing her number. It rang, and rang, and _rang..._ no answer. He tried again, with the same result.

After fourteen failed attempts to reach her, he tried texting her, and then sending an email. She still didn't respond. Mark could feel his breaths coming short and panicked, and his body tensed up at the thought of her being out on her own. God, if he'd only fucking gotten a grip and held his tongue! He absolutely hated what he'd said to her, and right in that moment, he absolutely fucking hated himself.

"I have to find her." He grit his teeth, quickly grabbing for his keys, and ran out of his house as if it were on fire. Before he could properly process his own options, he was driving around the neighborhood, greedy eyes trying to spot her familiar form. He'd driven around the neighborhood ten times before he accepted that she wasn't there, so he tried main roads instead. No luck there, either. He was going to rip his hair out.

\---------------------------

_Day Two_

"Surely one of her friends has said _something,"_ Mark pleaded desperately. "They have an entire case against him, surely there were witnesses."

 _"I'm sorry sir,"_ The woman on the other end of the line repeated, _"We are not allowed to release information regarding the witnesses to the Fisher case. This is confidential information."_

"Can you at least tell me the name of the bar? _Please,_ this is important." He was begging her now. "You don't have to give me any information, just tell me the name of the bar."

The woman sighed. " _Fine. It's the 4100 Bar, on Manzanita Street. Have a good day, sir."_

Mark was writing down what she'd said when the line cut, and grudgingly, he tucked it back into his pocket. He'd spent a gallon of gas driving around LA the day before, and not once had he seen her, or any clue as to where she'd gone. He'd searched her room, but she'd left no clues, and he hadn't had the heart to read through her journals. 

He was in his car again now, getting away with the highest speed he thought he could without getting pulled over. Sure enough, he came upon a biker-bar type building with a luminescent sign that read '4100.' Mark quickly located a spot and headed inside, his eyes searching wildly for the bar. There were very few people in, considering it was only six p.m., but he found what he was looking for.

"Can I help ya?" The lady behind the bar looked at him curiously, halting her progress in wiping down the counter with a dirty rag.

"Have you seen this girl?" He pulled out his phone, showing her a picture of (Y/N). She was sitting on the couch with a tub of ice cream in her lap, smiling shyly at him. Surprisingly, she was in one of her own shirts, but she still sported his famous Markiplier pajama pants.

"She your girlfriend or somethin'?" The lady looked at him with a raised brow, clearly suspicious about his intentions.

Mark sighed. Agreeing with her would be easier than explaining the series of events he'd been through, so he nodded. "I'm really worried about her. She's not in a good place right now."

She looked unconvinced. "You can't keep a tab on your own girlfriend?"

He looked at her, eyes wide and pleading. " _Please,_ ma'am. We got into a fight, and I said some things that I _really_ regret, and I just..." He tried his best to keep a control on his emotions. "I need to find her and apologize. She left without a word and I have no idea where she is."

The woman shot him a sympathetic look. "Wow, I wish most men were as introspective as you are." She was quiet for a second, and then she looked up from the counter. "She was in here last night, looking for some girl named Savannah. Savannah Andrews, that's her name. She's a regular."

"Oh god, thank you." Mark made a note of the name in his phone, smiling his thanks. He started to head out, but she stopped him by placing a hand on his arm.

"Look after your girlfriend, son. That girl's been to hell and back, and I don't want to see her like she was before ever again."

What she said gave him pause. "You knew her?"

The woman nodded reluctantly, tucking the rag away behind the counter. "She used to come in here a lot, before...well, ya know. She was _reckless,_ that one. Drinking all the time, until she was so far gone she couldn't remember her name." She sighed. "I used to let her sleep in the back, when she'd agree to it. I didn't want her going home with those party animal assholes she hung around. The guys were the worst - they treated her like shit, and they would just get her to drink a bunch before they took her home."

Mark's jaw clenched. He knew she'd had a rough life, but she'd never gone into detail. He didn't like the image of her hanging around this place with a bunch of sketchy low-life's.

"I feel partially responsible." She was pouring herself a drink. "I should've cut her off that night. I _knew_ she was in rough shape, but she just kept crying, asking for more. I don't know what was wrong, cause she wouldn't tell me. I told her I'd let her drink the pain away as long as she promised to sleep in the back, where it was safe, and she agreed." She shook her head. "When I came back from another customer, her shitty friends were still there, but she was gone. That was the night she went missing. The poor girl could barely walk."

Mark put his head in his hands. "Fuck." He murmured, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. He _had_ to find her.

"Here you go, hot stuff." The bartender slid a sheet of paper his way. "That's my number. Give me yours, and I'll call you if she shows up."

Mark graciously plugged the number into his phone and then offered his own, glad that he was able to get _one_ step closer, at least. As he grabbed the paper and started out, he looked over his shoulder, flashing a tired smile. "Thank you for the help, ma'am."

"Call me Roxanne. I'll be sure to let you know the second I know something." She shot him one last, apologetic smile, and gave her attention to a customer.

Mark quickly returned to his car, the name 'Savannah Andrews' stuck in his mind. Make that two steps closer.

\---------------

_Day Three_

"Look who finally decided to show her fuckin' face," Savannah said, a wasted grin plastered sloppily across her features.

You hugged your bag closer to your chest, trying your best to muster up a smile. After going to the bar last night, with no luck, you'd managed to run into an old friend on your way out. Well, 'friend' was putting it nicely, but he'd been helpful enough. He'd given you Savannah's new address with a greasy smile and a wink, and you'd managed to leave before he tried to give you anything else.

"Long time, no see," You murmured, stepping inside. She followed you in and shut the door, her eyes boring into the back of your head.

"I'll fuckin' say, where the hell you been?" She crossed her arms, raising one drawn-on brow in your direction. "Everyone's been askin'."

"I was...um, out of town." You didn't feel like delving into your story now, and you knew that she'd probably just make things worse. "How are things?"

"Good as ever, I'll say." She let out a drunken laugh, motioning to the living room. From the front hallway, you could hear the sounds of more than a few voices filtering through, and there was a thick layer of smoke settled in the air. "Rodney finally got outta fuckin' jail, 'n he really knows where to get the good shit now."

She grinned at you, her teeth yellow and cracked in places. You swallowed your disgust, trying your best to keep up a smile and pretend like this hadn't been your life almost two years ago. "Mind if I crash in your spare room? Just for the night?"

You'd slept at another friends the last two nights, but the noise and constant threat of sweaty advances from trashy guys had been too much for you. Of course, things weren't much better here at Savannah's, but at least you'd have a room with a lock.

"Sure, go for it. Kick anyone out if they're 'n there." She gave you a distracted wave of her hand and sauntered back into the living room, inciting a few slurred cheers and calls.

You quickly made your way to the back of the house, where the spare bedroom was. It was one of the cleanest rooms, since it saw the least amount of use, and you let out a sigh of relief when you discovered it empty. Taking a spare blanket out of the closet, you carefully spread it over the bed - you had no way of knowing _what_ was on those sheets - and then grabbed another, to serve as your cover. Your bag became your pillow, and within a few minutes of staring blankly at the ceiling, you managed to drift off to sleep. Your dreams were filled with fights and tears shed, and even in your sleep, your heart ached for Mark.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING : There's going to be some intense moments in this chapter that may not be suitable for young readers OR people who are affected by triggers regarding party scenes, drugs, or tense sexual situations. Please read at your own discretion.

_Day Four_

Mark's recording session was interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing. By some miracle, he'd managed to maintain his video schedule, despite the chaos his life had become. His fans had noticed the change in him, though - they commented on the bags under his eyes, his tired reactions, his disheveled hair. He reassured them that he just needed sleep, but he knew that they wouldn't buy it for long. 

"Hello?"

"Hey there hot stuff, it's Roxanne."

Mark quickly hopped out of his chair, glancing at the clock. It was nine p.m. The bar had been open for three hours, so maybe someone had come through with-

"So it wasn't her, sadly, but it might be something just as good." Her voice drew him from his thoughts. She continued, "A bunch of her old friends came in, causing the same amount of ruckus they usually do. One of 'em kept talkin' about some party 'Savannah' was throwing, and seeing as how it was the same friends, I imagine it's the same Savannah."

Mark felt his breath catch. "What did they say about the party?"

"Well, I offered 'em some drinks on the house, to get 'em talking. The greedy bastards took 'em, and after round two, one of 'em coughed up the address. I'd hurry though, if I were you. These sons-a-bitches like to party, and I don't like the thought of your girl gettin' wrapped up in the middle 'o one." Sure enough, his phone beeped with an incoming text. "There, sent it to ya. Good luck, hot stuff."

"Thank you, so much." Mark quickly hung up and grabbed his keys, giving Chica a soft pat on the head on his way out.

\----------------------

"Just shut up and take a swig, will ya? Jesus, you're such a fuckin' pussy sometimes." Savannah once again thrusted the cup in your face, her eyes looking down at you harshly.

"I don't feel like it," You repeated for the thousandth time, taking the cup and set it down.

Savannah scowled, grabbing your wrist and tugging you after her. You followed after her grudgingly, just wishing she'd let you go back to bed. "Listen here, (Y/N). We're all havin' a good ass time, and I'm not gonna let your mopey ass ruin this party. Now get the fuck over there," She motioned to the chair you'd been sitting in, to the cup on the table next to it, "An' have a fuckin' drink, or get the hell out."

You sighed. "Fine, jesus christ. One drink, Savannah, and that's it."

She nodded at you, crossing her arms expectantly. Heading back to where you'd been sitting, you grabbed the drink, bringing the rim of it to your lips. It was bitter and frankly, _terrible,_ but you forced it down nonetheless. "There, happy?"

She was beaming at you with her yellowed teeth. "Sure am. Now relax an' have a good time, alright?"

You huffed and sat back down in your chair, watching the rest of them with disgust. In the corner by the fireplace, a small group of potheads were well into their stashes, and you knew that they were _definitely_ responsible for the thick smoke that choked the air out of the room. In the other corner, some of Savannah's asshole friends were greedily passing around tabs, their pupils already bulging out of their eye sockets.

As for the rest of them, it was a crapshoot. Speed, ecstasy, even some of the harder shit. They were all on  _something,_ and you really weren't fond of the looks that some of them were giving you. By this point, you'd already turned down a thousand offers to get fucked in  _some_ form, some more suggestive than others. Not to mention, a lot of the guys here had been prodding you all night, hoping you'd get wasted like the rest of them so they could convince you to 'get with it.' Not in a million years. 

As you sipped from your glass, you noticed it was beginning to take a little of the edge off. Your limbs felt a little heavier, but your shoulders felt lighter, and after a while, you were actually starting to enjoy yourself. It was nice, letting your worries and feelings go for a little while.

"There's that smile we remember," A voice said. When you looked up, Rodney was standing over you, a devilish smile on his lips. "Why don't you dance with me, sweet cheeks?"

"Fuck off," You mumbled, even though a smile touched your lips.

He held up his hands in mock surrender, laughing. "Alright, alright. My offer stands all night, if you change your mind."

As he wandered off, you began to notice that you couldn't feel your fingers anymore. The cup was still in your hand though, and somehow you still managed to bring it to your lips. The taste was as bitter as ever, but you didn't cringe when it hit your tastebuds anymore. Before you knew it, you'd finished the drink, and a blurry face was shoving another one into your hands.

"Have another, sweet cheeks," The voice said, unfamiliar. Your vision was too cloudy to make out their face, but from the pet name, you figured it was probably Rodney again.

Shrugging, you brought the glass to your lips. This was a different drink, and more fruity than bitter, but the bite of alcohol was still there. It burned on the way down and left a searing warmth in your stomach, but you couldn't find yourself stopping. When you finally managed to take the cup away from your lips, a hand brought it back, forcing you to take another drink.

There was a hand on your cheek, in your hair. "How do you feel?"

"I don...I..." You tried to speak, but your tongue didn't feel like your own, and you found that your body wasn't responding to your thoughts. Your brain was another mess entirely - you couldn't see clearly, couldn't speak coherently. Your movements were sluggish and your blinks slow, as if you were moving in slow motion. You didn't feel good anymore, but you were so _tired..._

"Don't worry about it, just sit back and have a good time." The voice was coming from somewhere behind your chair, and the cold hand returned to your cheek, stroking at your jawline. "You're a pretty one. Savannah's friends are always so fucking gross."

You tried to say something, but the words got all jumbled in your throat. You didn't want them to touch your face anymore, but your hands wouldn't listen to you, and you couldn't get up. You were so _tired..._

\------------------

The house was exactly what he thought it would be. Trashy, littered in dirt and empty beer cans. There were random low-life's hanging around the front yard, and they shot him dirty looks when he parked his car across the street. He ignored them, though - the closer he got to the inside, the less he liked the feeling in the pit of his stomach. If she was _here,_ there was definitely something wrong.

He didn't have to knock, cause the door was open, so he strolled through, eyes searching for her familiar face. Everyone here was completely fucked in some form or another, and he didn't like to think of _what_ they had done to get that way. The bongs were an obvious clue, but by some of the behavior he saw, there were definitely more things being passed around.

As Mark rounded the corner, he heard people murmuring something about someone in the other room. "She's completely fucked, dude. Jake's staked a claim over her, he won't leave her side. He gets pissed when other people try to talk to her. Says he's just helpin' her have a good time."

Mark's heart leapt to his throat. "Where?" He asked, catching their attention. "That Jake guy, where is he?"

The one that had been talking shot him a weird look and pointed to an open door, just down the hallway. "That way, man."

Mark quickly followed his directions, already feeling a bit panicked. He didn't want her in a place like this, and he hated the creeping feeling he had of 'that girl' they'd been talking about. He round the corner, managing to shove his way into the room, his eyes flying from face to face.

A bunch of creeps were huddled in the corner, and another small group next to them, smoking more bongs.

"Just hold her mouth open until I get the tab in, you fucking idiot," One of them hissed, catching his attention.

"Dude, she's already fucked, do you really think you should give her that? That's gonna be one hell of a cross-fade."

"She'll be fine. She wants a good time, I can tell."

Mark approached the group, peering over their shoulders. There were three of them - one was leaning suspiciously over a girl's limp form, trying to pry her mouth open, and the other two were fumbling around in a plastic bag for little squares of cardboard. _Acid tabs,_ he realized.

"What the fuck do you want, man?" The one that had been leaning over her face looked up to him, and he felt his blood run cold.

She was in the guy's lap, her eyes partially open and rolling around sluggishly. She was moving her arms too, but her movements were delayed, as if she'd been sedated. "What the fuck did you do?" Mark said lowly, shoving one of them out of the way. "What the fuck did you _do!"_

"Woah, fuck off!" The one at her face stood, shooting Mark an angry glare. "Who the fuck even let you in here?"

The other two had lost their nerve by then, and were grudgingly heading back into the other room. The group on the bongs didn't seem to care about the confrontation at all.

"What the _hell,"_ Mark grabbed the guy by the shirt, his blood boiling, "Did you fucking do to her?"

"Chill the fuck out, would you?" The guy shoved him, looking angrily perplexed. "It's just a fucking roofie, to take the edge off. She was being such a fucking buzzkill."

Mark's breath caught. He'd never felt such composed anger in his life, and he was _really_ struggling to keep a lid on it. "I'm going to give you five seconds to walk away."

"Fuck you, man! I went to the trouble!" The guy started to crouch down again, but Mark was faster.

His fist snaked out before he could stop himself, knocking the other guy square in the nose. He let out an angry yell, punching him again. "How _dare_ you fucking. Touch. Her!" He connected his fist a third time, this one being the winner. The guy's nose let out a crack and began to gush blood, to which he let out a painful shriek.

He cupped his hands over his face, trying to stop the bleeding. "You're a fuckin' lunatic!" With those words, he was gone, leaving Mark to seethe in silence.

He immediately bent down, scooping her up into his arms. _"Fuck,"_ he hissed, trying to rouse her. She didn't respond, instead mumbling something incoherent. "Oh god, (Y/N), what did they _do_ to you?" His voice had gone from loud and angry to quiet and repentant in a span of seconds.

He carefully propped her up into his arms and cradled her against his chest, his fingers stroking at her hair. This was his fault.

"(Y/N), what the fuck is going- _shit."_ A girl stopped in the doorway, her lips parted in surprise.

Mark looked up, shooting her a glare. "Who are you?"

"Savannah, I- _shit."_ She came closer, leaning over him to peer at (Y/N)'s face. "Shit, shit, _shit._ I-hold on a second." She disappeared for a few moments, and then returned with a bag. (Y/N)'s bag. "Here, this is hers."

Mark snatched it angrily, being sure that (Y/N) was secure against his chest, and shoved his way past her. "Some fucking friend you are," He spat, shooting her one final glare before making his way out. People looked at him as he stormed out, a mix of curiosity and shame, but no one said a word.

When he got out to the car, he carefully put her in the passenger seat, securing her in with her seat belt. He was in the driver's seat in no time, wanting to get the hell out of there as fast as he could. The party was a solid fifteen minutes from the hospital, but due to the time, there wasn't that much traffic. He glanced over at her as he drove, his heart racing. God, if he he'd gotten there later...He didn't want to think about what Jake would've done to her. He couldn't imagine if he'd never learned of the party at all.

When he reached the hospital, he parked close to the entrance and rushed her inside, shouting for someone to help him. "She's been drugged, please," He called, watching as a few concerned nurses quickly came to his aid. They took her from his grasp and carried her gently through the doors, one of them ordering him to take a seat and wait.

As he did so, the nurse at the reception gave him a sorrowful look, her lips in a grim line. "She's a lucky one," She said after a moment, her voice sounding tired. "She had a friend around. A lot of times, the friends don't catch on until..." She trailed off. She didn't need to go on for him to understand.

Mark put his head in his hands, limbs shaking with worry.

"She'll be okay, son." There was a hand on his shoulder, and when he looked up, the same nurse had abandoned her post in favor of comforting him. "These things aren't lethal. They'll just get her some fluids going and make sure that she's okay, and hasn't been touched in any way. They'll send her home with some stuff to help flush out her system." She gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "It won't take long. Be thankful that you found her in time."

He was. Oh god, he was.


	15. Chapter 15

The ride home was a silent one. She was still too out of it to carry a conversation, but she communicated through sluggish gestures and mumbled words. More often than not, she kept her eyes closed and her hands in her lap. He had to help her with any movement, including the walk from the car to the house, and from the door to the couch. She didn't have the energy nor the capability to do things for herself.

She was in and out for the first few hours, content just to lay in his arms and pretend she wasn't. He held her, _god,_ did he hold her, terrified of letting go this time. There had been a few moments while she slept when her condition had brought guilty tears to his eyes and sorrowful words to his lips. He just kept pressing his lips to her head and whispering, "I'm sorry," hoping she heard him. He'd say it until she did.

When she became more aware, her gestures turned to one or two word sentences, usually just asking him for a glass of water or to hold her closer. He listened to her every word and completed her every request. He was practically hanging on her every jumbled word.

"Mark?" Her voice was timid and slightly hoarse, but it was the first time she'd said his name all night. Truly, it was the first time she'd said his name since she'd left.

"Hmm?" He looked down at her, tightening his grip around her shoulders. She was buried between his arms and legs, resting her head tenderly in the crook of his elbow. At his response, she looked up at him, making a sluggish gesture towards her bag.

"My journal," She whispered, eyes falling closed. He could tell that she was drifting out of it again. "Read...." The rest of her words were garbled.

Tenderly, he reached around her, trying his best not to disturb her rest. She needed it, and in the morning, he'd have to give her something to help flush out the toxins. He'd requested anything _other_ than pills this time, so they'd given him a tonic instead. Hands on the strap of her bag, he pulled it closer, fumbling around inside briefly before his fingers brushed a leather binding.

Mark pulled it out, using his arm that wasn't wedged under her weight to bring it to his lap, propping it against her hip. He flipped through the pages, figuring she'd have filled it up. Much to his surprise, there were only a few, short entries.

_4:00 am_

_Mark and I had a fight last night. It was our first, I think. I was out for too long and he waited up, as he always does. Walking through that threshold was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, not because I was coming back home, but because the look on his face when he saw me burned a hole in my heart. I've never seen someone so full of hope and concern, nor have I ever cause someone so much stress. I'm tearing him apart. I destroy everything I touch. He's spent years sowing his life together and securing it with a neat little bow, and here I am, tearing apart the seams with my bare hands. I know he didn't mean what he said, but...he was right. He'd never admit it, but I'm a burden to him. I guess I just never realized because of how different this feels. It's so odd, it's almost terrifying. To wake up and know that someone's looking forward to seeing my face and hearing my voice. To rely on someone without expecting them to want something in return. To genuinely feel so fucking hard for someone and know that you're not just one of the players in their game. Because with him, I...I feel like I'm the entire game. There are no parts or players, just the concept and the characters. One's not whole without the other. I'm not whole without him. But I hope to god he will be without me. I can't do this to him anymore._

His eyes were hot again.

_9:00 am_

_He slept in this morning. I'd hoped he would, though I worry it wasn't good sleep. Sometimes, when he's resting, I like to watch him. Call it creepy, whatever, but I've never loved a face more. The way his hair brushes his eyebrows and gets in his way, the way he presses his lips together when his dream takes a turn, the sleepy way he feels around for my warmth if he notices I'm gone. When he sleeps, he's vulnerable, and he's peaceful, and he's the most beautiful person on this earth. I felt like I was cutting out a piece of myself and leaving it as I walked out of his room, and I nearly busted my ass leaving. Had I not cried myself out last night, I probably would've sobbed then. Especially when Chica woke up. She followed me around like any other morning, watching me as I cleaned, nudging my leg while I cooked. She seemed to understand that something was wrong. I have never seen so much emotion in an animal's eyes as I did in hers when I left._

The thought of her standing over his bed while he slept, in tears, broke his heart. If only he'd just fucking woken up, pulled her into his grasp and whispers his apologies. If only he'd persisted at her door the night before, demanding she let him in and _talk_ to him. If only he'd tried harder. This was his fault.

_9:00 pm_

_I'm going to stay at Brandon's tonight. I absolutely fucking hate the thought, but I can't find Savannah, and I'm out of options. I lived like this once, surely I can endure it again? Of course, sleeping on a couch in the midst of a bunch of doped up shitheads seems a lot more appealing when you're also a doped up shithead. I'll manage, though, I think. Worse comes to worse, I grab the knife block out of the kitchen and keep it on-hand. His friends may be grabby and annoying, but none of them are idiotic enough to challenge a girl with a knife block. I hope._

_11:00 pm_

_I was wrong. I almost cut one of their stupid fucking hands off, but I didn't want to give them the satisfaction of seeing me get riled up, so I left. I just grabbed all of my stuff and walked out. I'm going to check the 4100 Bar, where Savannah and I used to hang out. Someone there probably knows something about her, and even if they don't, I can probably find another familiar face. I just want to go home._

_She just wanted to come home._ Mark grit his teeth. He was such an idiot - he'd put her through this, and as he read on, the lump in his throat grew harder and harder to keep down. He didn't know why she'd wanted to read this. Then again...When he returned to the entries, the next date surprised him. It was addressed at the same time the next night - she'd gone a whole day without writing a thing, and he wondered what had gone on in those hours. 

_11:00 pm_

_I found Savannah. I was looking all day, and her friends sure as hell didn't make it easy. Just like always, though, she's got a spare bedroom with my name on it. At least this one is in decent shape. Just to be sure, I covered up the mattress and used my bag as a pillow. I don't want any STD's._

There was a break, and then the passage continued.

_I miss Mark. I've never felt something so strongly. It feels like someone's ripped out my lungs and dangled them in front of my face, and I watch them greedily, all the while choking for air. I could go home, I know that. I KNOW that. I could go home and apologize and beg him to hold me and tell me everything's okay. I could leave behind all of these wasted assholes and come back into his life, but I can't. I'd sooner choke than force him to, and I know that once he gets over this, he'll be okay. He's a strong guy, and I believe in him more than I've ever believed in anyone, including myself. I wonder what he's doing right now. Every time I close my eyelids I see his face, his scowl, his tired eyes. I see the bags beneath his lids and the sleepy way his lips form my name. I see him bouncing in his chair, excited about a new game. I see him playing with Chica. I see him watching my face while I pretend that I'm asleep, and I have never seen a stronger, more raw emotion than there is in his eyes. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. What have I done?_

He was sobbing now, silent tears staining his cheeks as they hadn't done in a long time. His grip on her shoulders had tightened, and through all of this, she rested, unaware of the chaos above her. 

_8:00 am_

_I should be making his breakfast. I should be bringing it to him on a tray with a plate full of fresh strawberries and his favorite pancakes, with a buttery message that spells out, 'I'm sorry.' I should be playing with his hair and rubbing his face and calling him 'Markimoo,' ironically, because it never sounds as silly in his mouth as it does in mine. I should be calling Chica to the couch and smiling apologetically as she wedges her way between us. I should be teasing him about how his dog loves me more. I should be sitting on his bed and watching him record, silently adoring the doofy grins and giggles he makes. I should be there, with him. I thought I was helping him but if he feels even the slightest bit of my pain, I must be killing him. I want to go home. I want to go home and swallow the entire bag of pills, just to make it up to him. I should've just talked to him. I don't know why I hate taking them so much._

_No, that's a lie, I do. I hate them because they make me feel crazy. I hate them because I feel like every pill I swallow destroys another piece of my humanity. I feel like our pillow barrier was replaced with bottles of medication and late night comfort full of words I wouldn't remember in the morning. I feel like I can't be happy without them but I want to be, god, do I want to be. I feel like the sleeping pills take away my time with him and selfishly I love it when I panic in the night because it means another moment of him promising that it's okay. I feel like I'm laying waste to this body and I'm making him unknowingly administer the poison but I can't stop and he won't stop and we're just little toy machines marching to some sick fucking drum. I can't take them. I can't tell him this because I've made him SUFFER and I've made him pick them up for me and drive me around and take me to update my prescriptions and if I tell him it tastes like giving up. I'm not giving up, I promise, I'm not, I just want to do this on my own. I can't take the pills because the pills taste like poison and he's the only thing I need to feel whole again._

_I should've just told him. I should've just owned up to it and said I was sorry and promised to be a good little psycho and swallow the fucking pills. I don't care if they make me feel like a failure. I don't care if they remind me of the years I spent torturing this body and pretending I was already dead. I'd do it for him. I'd bear the burden for him. I'd bear infinite burdens for him._

His sobs grew a little more violent, shaking his shoulders and sending his fingers into a panicked frenzy, turning the pages with vigorous intent. "Why didn't you just tell me?" He sobbed, burying his face in her hair. When he'd first found her stash he'd figured she wasn't taking them to prove a point. Then, he'd thought, maybe she doesn't need them anymore. But when she'd avoided his questions even _after_ his confrontation, he'd assumed the worst. He'd never thought...Oh god, he'd said those _terrible things_ to her...

There was one final passage.

_7:00 pm_

_Savannah's throwing a party tonight. She said that I seem down, and that something's 'just not right' in my head. She hopes it'll cheer me up. She took the lock off of my door so that I wouldn't shut her out. She's making me go. She's holding my bag hostage until I agree to go, but she said that if I stayed for an hour, she'd give it bag. I just have to endure an hour. I've endured worse._

_I didn't sleep last night. I was too jittery and I couldn't stop seeing his face. The bed doesn't feel right without him in it, and I'm scared of what I'll wake up to in the morning. I've made up my mind. I'm staying for an hour, getting my shit back, and that's it. I love him. I fucking love him. I can't breathe without him. I love him._

_I'm going home._

His heart shattered into a million pieces. She stirred then, his sobs too violent to keep from disturbing her. At first, she blinked at him a couple of times, but her expression quickly changed to horror. 

Tentative fingers reached up to his face, brushing his tears from his cheeks. He leaned into her touch, trying his best to maintain his breathing, but he felt as if someone had squeezed all of the oxygen out of his lungs.

"Mark," She choked. When he looked at her, there were tears in her eyes, and he realized that she'd been sobbing, too. "Mark," She said again, pressing her forehead against his chin. "I love you." The words were a garbled sob, hard to make out, but they went through him like a bullet.

He'd never clung to something so strongly in his life. "I love you too." He whimpered, pressing her face into his shoulder. He held her head securely, never wanting to let go. "I love you too, please don't ever leave me again."

They sat like that for another few hours, until both of them had cried their tear-ducts dry and wiped away all of the evidence. Neither of them wanted to shift positions or let go, and only when her hold on him grew weak did he consider moving. Carefully, Mark wrapped her legs around his waist and lifted her up, making sure she was secure in his arms. She clung to him for dear life, face buried in his shoulder. She didn't release a single protest as he carried her to bed.

When he tucked her in and started to move away, he felt fingers pulling at his wrist, begging him to stay. "Please," She sniffled, staring up at him with the most heart-wrenching expression he'd seen her wear to date. "Please don't go."

Instead of walking around to his side of the bed, he climbed over her, quickly pulling her into his chest. Her hands clung to his arms like stairway railings. "From this point forward," Mark murmured into her hair, "Please talk to me."

She nodded then, looking up at him. "I promise. Always."

He placed a soft kiss on her nose, fingers tracing her features as if seeing them for the first time. "I'm so sorry I said those things to you."

"Shh." She pressed her forehead to his, her eyes closed. "I know you are, shh."

He didn't object. His limbs were almost as heavy as his heart, and he knew that they'd both need a good rest before they could actually sit down and talk about all of this. "I love you." He said the words with a fierce intensity, as if he wanted to ensure she'd always believe them.

"I love you, so much." She was crying again, only softly this time.

"Please don't cry." He wiped at her cheeks, wanting desperately to ease her pain. She'd endured enough.

"Happy tears," She defended, a soft smile touching her lips. She intended to spread the smile to him, evidently, for she suddenly pressed her lips to his and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Mark?"

He was still recovering his breath _and_ thoughts from what the hell had just happened when he heard his name. "Y-yeah?"

Her eyes were pleading with him. "Make me feel whole again."


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some well-deserved fluff to ease the heartbreak a little, yeah?

When he woke up, she was gone.

Thoughts came flooding back from the night before. Images of her, crumpled like a broken doll in some asshole's arms, her mouth pried open and her eyes sluggishly aware. Her journal, giving him the words she'd never been able to say. Her words, her tears, her whispered, "I love you"s. Her kiss. They hadn't had sex - she had only wanted to stay wrapped securely in his arms, and even if she'd asked, he would've declined. It wasn't time for that yet, and the situation was hardly appropriate. Maybe a night when they weren't using emotional trauma as foreplay.

He sat up, eyes searching wildly for her form. She was nowhere in sight.

"(Y/N)?" He stumbled out of bed, throwing the blanket off of himself and reaching desperately for a pair of sweatpants. He was already breaking into a sweat, and he felt as if his blood had run cold. Last time he'd woken up to her missing, she'd disappeared for a week, and he'd found her on the floor of some shithole. The image of her laying there flashed across his eyelids, sending a cold chill down his spine that suffocated-

"Mark," She was standing in the doorway, and her eyes widened when she noticed his panic, "No, Mark, it's okay. I'm right here." She quickly made her way over to him, placing a hand on either side of his face. "I'm right here."

Mark let out the breath he'd been holding, pulling her tightly into his bare chest. "I just...you weren't there and I _panicked_ -"

"I was just letting Chica out." She looked up at him, her face half-hidden against his skin. Her eyes were big and (e/c) and utterly beautiful, but something dark was settled inside of them. 

"Are you okay?" He whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

She chewed on her lip for a second, looking down at her feet, and pulled away from him. He watched her carefully, keeping a hand on her waist as if bracing for impact. He wasn't sure how she was holding up as of this morning, and he wasn't entirely sure how much she remembered, either.

"I...," She stopped chewing her lip and looked up at him. She looked confused, but something about the way her eyes dulled and her lips fell made his heart sink. "I think I know what happened to me last night."

It was a bare whisper. Mark used his grip on her waist to pull her in again, but he didn't hug her. Instead, he placed his hands on her cheeks, forcing her gaze up to his. There was a faint trace of tears brimming her eyes, and he could tell by the way she swallowed that she was trying to keep them from falling.

"He didn't hurt you," Mark reassured her, thumbs swiping under her eyes. She leaned into his touch, eyes boring into his own.

She sniffled, fingers reaching desperately for his shirt. "B-but he was there, and I thought it was...I thought it was....oh, Mark, it wasn't. It _wasn't..."_ She closed her eyes, unable to keep a choked sob from clawing its way out of her throat. "I d-don't remember-"

"Shhh..." He finally drew her into his arms, fingers stroking softly at her hair. "He didn't hurt you, I _promise_ you." Mark rested his chin on top of her head, holding her as she sobbed. Her arms quickly wrapped around his torso, clinging to him as if she were scared to let go. "They didn't...do anything," He murmured into her hair, "I found you."

She nodded against his chest, mumbling, "I remember the hospital. Parts of it."

He struggled not to flinch. "Do you remember after that?"

She was quiet for a second. "I remember enough." She drew back, tear-stained cheeks glistening in the light from the window. "I meant what I said. I love you." Her lips trembled. "I _love_ you, Mark."

He let out a heavy sigh, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. "I love you, too." He used his fingers to tenderly cup her cheek, placing another kiss on her nose, and then pressed his forehead to hers. "And I _promise_ you, I will never let anyone hurt you again."

A soft smile touched her lips. "I believe you."

They sat like that for a few moments, just enjoying being in each others arms. It wasn't until he heard Chica barking outside that he let go, a small chuckle rolling off of his lips. "I guess someone wants to join the party."

She giggled, sniffling. (Y/N) followed him out the door, her fingers twined through his. Mark had to consciously shorten his strides so as not to tug her along, but he didn't mind. Chica was anxiously awaiting them at the back door, her tail wagging so hard he was sure it would fall off. She was clearly happy to see him up and about, but once again, she abandoned him for (Y/N).

Mark threw his hands up, feigning hurt. "Why does she like you so much better than me? I'm her owner!"

(Y/N) giggled, wiping her cheeks. "Cause you stink, you doof." She ran her fingers across Chica's head for a few seconds before throwing her arms around the Golden, welcomed by a series of sloppy kisses. She was giggling now, and the sound made Mark grin from ear to ear.

"Stinky, huh?" He asked, slowly creeping forward.

She saw his intentions and her eyes went wide. "Ohhhhh no, none of that," She giggled, shaking a finger at him. (Y/N) backed up a little, trying her best to smother a smile.

Mark crept forward, grinning like an idiot. He stopped when he was a few inches from her, arms held out, at the ready. "You think I'm stinky?"

She put a hand over her mouth to smother her giggles, backing up some more. What she didn't realize was that he'd cornered her, and now she had nowhere to run. She watched him for a second longer before grinning, her arms crossing stubbornly. "The stinkiest."

Mark scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder, chuckling heartily at her protests. She beat her fists against his back, calling out his name in protest, but he wouldn't stop. Not until he had her where he wanted her, at least.

"Maaaark," She giggled, trying to squirm free, "Put me downnnn."

Mark tossed her onto the couch, his fingers immediately finding her sides. Gently, he jabbed her in the ribs, making trails of tickles along her sides. She giggled loudly, trying her best to fight off his fingers, but she didn't have enough hands. "Please," She wheezed, trying to grasp his arms, "Have mercy."

He grinned, plopping down next to her. "Alright, alright. Just because you're cute."

She smiled at him and quickly sat up, coming to rest in the crook of his shoulder. Her face found its way into the space where his neck met his collarbone, and he couldn't help but shiver, using his arms to pull her into his lap. "Hey, (Y/N)?"

She didn't look up. "Hm?"

He thoughtfully laid his chin on top of her head, one of his hands wrapped around her back, and the other resting softly against her leg. "You...um, you don't have to take your medications anymore. If you don't want to."

She was quiet for a second. He knew she was thinking about his words. "Let's talk to Anne, next time we go," She said softly, burying her face further into his neck. "We'll ask her about the proper way to wean my body off of them."

He let out a relieved sigh, letting his eyes fall closed. They sat in silence for a few moments. "Thank you."

"Why are you thanking me?" She pulled back just enough to look up at him, her temple braced against his shoulder. "I'm the one that fucked all of this up in the first place."

Mark peered down at her, a sad smile on his lips. "Don't say that, (Y/N)," He mumbled, kissing her forehead. "I'm thanking you for coming home."

She frowned, "But I-"

"You were planning on it, regardless of what happened." Mark cocked his head at her, lifting his hand from her leg to her face. His fingers traced her jaw as if re-familiarizing themselves with the shape of it. "But this is your home, if you want it to be." He met her gaze, a goofy grin on his lips.

Her grin matched his. "I'd love that, Mar-moo."

He chuckled softly, shaking his head at her. She'd called him that quite a few times since the incident at his mother's house, and he had to admit, he kind of liked it. "So what, I'm a cow?"

"A stinky cow." She kissed his nose, giggling. "My stinky little Mar-moo."

"Fine," He grumbled, resting his head on her shoulder, "But just because you're too cute to say no to."

"Aw, Mar-moo," She placed a hand over her heart in a melo-dramatic way, but it quickly gave in to a warm smile and rosy cheeks. "I love you."

"I love you too."


	17. Chapter 17

You had been living with Mark for almost a year now. Time had gone by fast, and you couldn't believe you were still here, in his world, spending your nights wrapped securely in his arms. For once in your life, something good had lasted, and you were beyond grateful.

The two of you were official now; Mark had forced you to tag along with him to a convention a few weeks after you'd come home from the hospital - the second time - and there, he'd begun introducing you to his fans as his 'girlfriend.' He'd made a vlog about it too, but he'd left the details of your meeting out. It was an invasion of your privacy, and frankly, you really thought he liked the private moments you'd shared staying that way.

You were still going to treatments, but much less frequently, and you'd stopped taking your medications. A few months ago, you'd picked up writing and producing songs again, and every now and then you posted them. Mark was completely behind you, and he helped you with the production aspects that you didn't quite understand. Of course, you'd been asked to start a gaming channel like your boyfriend, but that wasn't really your cup of tea. You enjoyed _playing_ games, yes, but you didn't see the point in broadcasting your playthroughs to the internet.

For the most part, his fan base was very accepting. It didn't take them long to track your name and history on the internet, but none were rude about it. They seemed to understand your need for their discretion, and to this day, not once had any of them mentioned your circumstances from last year to you or any of your close friends. You even had begun to get gifts and letters from them at conventions, and as was expected, your social media following had increased significantly. You replied to them as much as you could, seeing as how you weren't really busy with anything else, other than Mark, of course.

You didn't really frequent his videos, though. You were camera shy, and you didn't want people to expect that just because you were Markiplier's girlfriend meant you _had_ to be in a lot of his videos. You were in some vlogs, sure, and you popped in and out of his camera feed every now and then, but you definitely weren't a 'regular.'

So here you were, dutifully preparing him some lunch, singing softly to yourself as you did so. After Mark had read your journal and the two of you had finally stopped bottling up your feelings from one another, he'd made it his goal to spend as much time with you as possible. He never wanted to leave your side, but you didn't mind. Now, he got up when he felt you leave the bed in the morning, and he always _helped_ make breakfast. Every now and then, though, you managed to slip out unnoticed and surprise him in bed with a tray full of his favorite foods.

He was recording upstairs, so you figured he'd be hungry when he finished. From the sound of things, he was putting himself through another horror series. Smiling softly, you layered two pieces of cheese onto the toasted bread and then added the deli meat, making a satisfying heap. As you went to press the top piece of toast to the sandwich, there was a knock at the door.

You looked over, frowning. Neither of you were expecting anyone, and it was kind of a weird time. Three p.m. wasn't usually a 'stopping in' time of day. You tucked the sandwich into the fridge and took a few tentative steps to the door, peering through the window beside the frame.

A woman stood on the porch - blonde, very tall, pretty in her middle age. She had a certain warmness to her that radiated with every shift of her eyes, but she wasn't smiling. In fact, she looked nervous. She was jittering back and forth from foot to foot, and she kept touching her hair, as if trying to distract herself.

You stared for a moment longer before grabbing the doorknob, pulling it open just enough to see her. "Hello?" You asked softly, watching her eyes quickly find your face.

"Oh, hi," She breathed, "Are you (Y/N)?"

You had never seen her before, you knew that for a fact. So how the _hell_ did she know your name? "Yeah, th-that's me."

She anxiously clasped her hands in front of her, looking at you with an expression that was almost...guilty? "Hello, honey. I think the two of us _really_ need to talk." She looked down at her feet and then back up at you, clearly feeling as awkward as she looked. "I'm Mary. Mary Fisher."

You felt your heart lurch to your throat, and your pulse quicken. _Mary. Mary Fisher. Mrs. Fisher. Mr. Fisher. Roger. Roger Fisher._ "What do you want?"

She saw the fear in your eyes and frowned deeply. "No, honey, _please_ don't be scared, I'm not here to hurt you." She began to rub her hand over her face, but something stopped her. When she looked back up, there were tears in her eyes. "It's taken me a really long time to come here...and, I...I just...I guess I'm just trying to _understand_ how he could..." Her words dripped with bitter betrayal.

You understood then. Opening the door a little farther, you swallowed the fear in your throat and held out an arm. "Why don't you come in?"

Mary looked at you hopefully and followed suit, stepping aside so that you could shut the door behind her. "I'm so sorry to bother you, (Y/N), I'll probably regret this later. I know I'm probably one of the last people you want to see."

"I-It's okay." You offered her a timid smile and headed back into the kitchen, grabbing two mugs from the cabinet. "Want anything? Coffee? Tea?"

"Tea would be lovely." Mary leaned over the edge of the counter as you filled a pot with water, setting it on the stove to boil. "You have a lovely home."

"Oh, it's-" You cut yourself off. You supposed it was _sort of_ your home now, too, and it was easier to say it was than explain the entire Mark situation. "Thank you."

"I have to say, I was surprised to find out that you live next door to... _that_ place...I," She sighed, shaking her head. Her fingers rubbed at her temples. "I'm sorry if my sentences don't make very much sense. I'm still not sure how to talk about all of this."

"It's alright, I understand." You shot her a knowing smile and poured the boiling water into the two mugs, grabbing a few tea bags. As they sat to brew, you turned to face her, readying yourself to have this conversation. You weren't sure how you were handling it so well, but you were. Now that you could differentiate between her motives and her husband's, it was easier to look at her without your stomach tying itself into knots. Not to mention, you'd been learning how to cope for a year now, and day by day, you were getting better at it. "It's not my house, actually. My boyfriend, Mark - he's the man who found me - owns it. I just live here."

She nodded, pulling her fingers away from her temples. "I have so many questions...but I...I don't want to bring up any bad memories for you, or-"

"Mary, I promise you, it's okay." Your tone was oddly calm. Maybe Mark's demeanor was rubbing off on you. It was almost amusing to think of how the roles were reversed here - you were usually in Mary's position, and Mark in yours. But here you were, proving a point to your own progress. "I'm not a fragile doll. Ask away."

She nodded again, running her hands over her bangs. "Alright..." She let out a deep breath and tried to clear her throat. "What was he... _Roger,_ what was he like, when he was with you?"

You swallowed hard and glanced over at the mugs of tea, mulling over your words. "He was...cold, cut off. Abusive, angry, short-tempered. I was constantly terrified of setting him off and, when I did, he was downright cruel. He liked to be in control of the situation."

She bit her lip, clearly trying to fight tears. "How did your boyfriend find you?"

You sighed and grabbed the mugs, extending one to her. You motioned for Mary to follow you into the living room and plopped down onto the couch, the mug coming to rest in your lap. "Are you sure you want to hear this? I know these things are hard to swallow, believe me."

She nodded, looking determined. "I'm sure. I need to."

"Well, he - Roger - liked to be especially cruel sometimes. He kept me in check with industrial shock collars around my thighs, which he would set off if I tried something or _misbehaved."_ You spat the word, disgusted with his actions. "So he'd let me go into the backyard, 'for fresh air.' I had to sit in a lawn chair and look out at the city below, knowing fully well that I _could_ run down the hill to safety, find someone and beg them for help, but I'd never make it. The shocks delivered from those things was _terrible._ I wouldn't be able to walk for hours. I only tried that once."

Mary winced, but motioned for you to keep going.

"So this one time, Mark had a few friends over and they were playing some game in the backyard, with toy bows and arrows. Some of the arrows went over the fence and he climbed up the side to ask if he could come get them. He saw me sitting in the chair, and when I noticed him, I was terrified for my life. I knew Roger would be watching me closely, and if I talked to Mark, I knew he'd punish me for it. So I ran inside, stuttering out apologies and begging him to leave me alone." You sighed, sipping at your tea. "He saw how terrified I was. He watched the house for days, determined to figure out what was going on. I was dirty and clearly malnourished, I wore the same disgusting dress for weeks at a time, and I acted like a beaten animal. Eventually, he came over to talk to Roger, and Roger panicked. He left town, and that's when Mark made a move. He came to the door and refused to leave until I answered. Eventually, he forced me to talk to him, and the rest is in the police reports."

She was crying now, and when you offered her a tissue, she took it gratefully. "That just...None of it _sounds_ like him, you know? I didn't believe any of it at first. I didn't want to. But then the vacations and business trips started adding up, and the evidence was too strong, and..." She choked out a sob, wiping her cheeks with the tissue. "I am _so_ sorry that he put you through that. He deserves what he's getting and worse."

You looked at her thoughtfully then, seeing her tears and feeling them, too. "You don't have to be sorry for him." Sitting in silence for a moment, you let the gravity of the exchange sink in. Here was the wife of the man who'd held you captive for seven months, crying on your couch, trying to understand, and you weren't scared. You weren't scared and it was absolutely _wonderful._ You could only imagine how something like this was from her perspective - if you'd found out Mark had been living a double life and hurting someone the way Roger had hurt you, you weren't sure what you'd do. And fuck, she'd been _married_ to the guy. They had kids. "How was he when he was with you?"

She looked up at your question, sniffling. "Different. He was a good father, really. He loved the kids, and he was thoughtful, and generous. He did what he could to show me he was thinking about me, and I was an idiot to believe all of the charming smiles. It's just hard, you know? To know that someone you were _so sure_ was an honest, _good_ man is capable of something like that."

You nodded, taking another sip of your tea. You couldn't imagine Roger in that way - smiling, playing baseball with his son in the backyard. "How are the kids handling this?"

"Better than they were. They're strong kids, (Y/N). So strong. Amelia, she's nineteen, she landed a full scholarship to Stanford and she's so determined to get into med school. I was really worried about her when all of this came out, but if anything, she worked harder. I think she wants to prove that she's not just some psychopath's daughter. And Elliot, he's just as strong. He doesn't play football anymore, cause it reminds him too much of his dad, but he's gotten into art and theatre. He's actually very good, and I think it helps him to have an outlet." She pulled out her wallet, handing you a couple of photos. "These are them."

You took the photos and looked down at them, smiling at the little kids in front of you. Neither of them looked like Roger - Amelia had Mary's radiating warmth and soft smile, and Elliot shared the same happy eyes. They were great looking kids, and you couldn't help but sympathize for them. They deserved a good father. Not some sadistic asshole rotting in a prison cell. "They look like great kids."

"They are, oh god, they are." Mary took the pictures back and smiled fondly at them, placing a hand over her heart. "Without them, I'm not sure I'd have gotten through this. They've been keeping me sane this past year."

You nodded, smiling. "Kids are usually good at bouncing back."

She looked up, a frown pulling at her features. "And you? How are you?"

You thought on that for a second, wondering how much to tell her. "At first, things were terrible, as you can imagine. I had night terrors and panic disorder and I could barely get through a day without having a breakdown. I went to a lot of therapy and took a bunch of different medications. I couldn't stand to be touched for too long or in any intimate way. It was a very rocky couple of months." You sighed, smiling softly. "But believe me, I am _so good_ now. I go to therapy once every two weeks, and I'm not taking medications anymore. Mark and I are in a very stable, honest relationship, and I can finally sleep through the night every night. I don't flinch when doors open too fast or shrink away from embraces. I'm doing really well."

She smiled, an honest, hopeful smile that tugged at your heart. "I am so glad. I was so worried, coming here. I wasn't sure what I'd do if I found out he'd destroyed you...if you weren't doing well...god..." She closed her eyes and recollected herself, taking a few deep breaths. "So, Mark? He's stuck by you all this time?"

You nodded, smiling fondly. "He has. He's been my saving grace, really. Without him...I'm not sure where I'd be. He's the one who talked me down from my panic attacks, reassured me after bad nightmares, forced me to get some sleep even when I _swore_ it wouldn't help. He's kept me grounded and reminded me of what's important." You hadn't realized how big you were grinning until your cheeks began to ache. "I love him. With all of my heart. He is my rock and by far the most amazing man I've ever met. He's...He's the love of my life."

Mary was smiling now, too. "I'm so glad the two of you found one another," She murmured, tucking her wallet back into her purse. "He sounds like a remarkable young man. It takes a lot of love and patience to stick with someone through a trauma like this."

You felt her words. "You're right, it does. He's just such a good man, with such a good, _honest_ heart. He loves me, and he always shows it. There's not a morning I wake up and don't feel loved and appreciated. His doofy smiles and stupid jokes keep me going, even at my worst." You smiled down at your hands. "I...I want to spend the rest of my life with him.

\------------------------------------

"-it does. He's just such a good man, with such a good, _honest_ heart. He loves me, and he always shows it. There's not a morning I wake up and don't feel loved and appreciated. His doofy smiles and stupid jokes keep me going, even at my worst." There was a pause. "I...I want to spend the rest of my life with him."

Mark had finished recording a few minutes ago, and he was anxious to spend some time with her. He'd been queuing up videos all morning so that he'd have a few days off to spend with her, and because of that, he hadn't seen her since breakfast. When he'd started to head down the stairs, he'd heard an unfamiliar voice, which had given him pause. They hadn't been expecting company, and (Y/N) didn't really invite friends over last minute.

When he'd gotten to the stairs, he'd noticed the woman, but he had no idea who she was. He'd just caught the bare end of their conversation, and what he'd heard had given him pause. To hear (Y/N) talk about him that way...talk about a doofy smile. His heart swelled, making his chest erupt into butterflies he hadn't felt in a while. Of course, he'd known for months that he wanted her to be his, forever, but hearing her say it was an entirely new feeling.

"Hey baby," He murmured as he came into the room, kissing her on the crown of her head. She looked up at him, grinning from ear to ear. It was absolutely, beautifully blinding. "Who's this?"

The woman looked at him curiously, a warm, friendly smile on her face. "I'm Mary. You must be Mark?" She held out a hand.

He took it, giving it a gentle shake. "That I am."

"Mark, this is Mary Fisher." (Y/N) looked at him, her voice calm, "Roger's wife."

Mark felt his heart lurch to his throat. Why was she _here?_ What the _fuck_ did she want? He started to say something, but he felt a soft hand on his arm, pulling him back down from his burst of rage. (Y/N) was looking at him with a soft smile, her expression unnervingly calm. She was...okay with this? He wouldn't have guessed she'd welcome the wife of her captor into the house, but shit, she surprised him sometimes.

"She came to talk. She's been dealing with accepting what he did, and she wanted to see how I was doing." (Y/N) used her grip on his arm to guide him around the couch and pull him down next to her. She snuggled into his chest, leaving him no choice but to pull her closer, resting his chin on her head. She looked up at him, a thoughtful look in her eyes. "She's just as much a victim of this situation as we are," She whispered.

Mark's frown softened into a small smile. "She's a wonder, isn't she?" He looked at Mary, motioning to the girl cuddling childishly into his side.

"She is. Truly a strong girl." Mary smiled, sipping at her drink. He couldn't tell what it was, but it was too light to be coffee. Tea, maybe? "I just came by to try and sort things out, I guess. Hear her side and share mine...maybe make some sense of this mess?"

Mark nodded. He understood now, and he sympathized with her. "I would, too, if I were on your side. Has it helped at all?"

Mary smiled. "It has. Actually, I should probably be going. Elliot and I are staying with my sister, and they'll be expecting me soon."

(Y/N) looked up at him, whispering, "Elliot is her son."

Just then, Mary stood, and he and (Y/N) stood to meet her. To his surprise, (Y/N) pulled her into a hug, one that was so full of empathy and understanding that it moved him a little. She gave Mark a similar hug, whispering, "Take care of her. She's remarkable, and she loves you, so much."

Mark watched her leave with a doofy grin, unable to keep his pulse from quickening a little at her words. He knew exactly what she was talking about, and he believed it whole-heartedly. He fully intended to take care of her until the day he was unable to anymore, and he hoped that day would never come. When she came back from letting Mary out, (Y/N) pulled him into a hug, pressing her head against his chest.

"So, you want to spend the rest of your life with me, huh?" He asked into her hair, wrapping her securely in his arms.

She just giggled, placing a kiss on his collarbone. "Of course I do, Mar-moo. Who else would understand my cynical sense of humor?"

"You have a point." He pulled back and cupped her cheeks, pressing his lips against the tip of her nose. "I love you."

She grinned, stealing a kiss from his lips. "I love you, too. _And_ I'm the best girlfriend ever, because I made you a super delicious lunch for when you finished recording."

He perked up like an excited puppy. "You did? Really?"

She swatted his arm, laughing. "It's in the fridge, you doof."

Mark just scooped her up and brought her with him, setting her firmly against the counter. He felt her eyes on him as he pulled the sandwich out, eyes hungrily taking in the sight of it. "What?" he asked, catching her staring.

She just shook her head, smiling. "Nothing"


	18. Chapter 18

"Hey baby?" Mark was standing in the doorway, a big, doofy grin on his face. You could just make out his guitar strap across his chest, and when he turned, you could see the neck of it looming over his shoulder.

"Yes, Mar-moo?" You raised a brow at him, a soft, easy smile finding its way onto your lips. You'd been in your office, trying your best to clear your writer's block by playing some pieces on the piano. Usually when you did this, he'd sit in and listen, but he'd insisted on having some 'alone time.' You didn't mind - you knew he was busy, and figured he was behind in editing or something.

"Can you come down to the living room, please?" He extended a hand in your direction, his grin growing.

You set down your journal and took his hand, raising both brows this time. "Why do I get the feeling that you're up to something?" You asked.

His smile was contagious. "Because I am." He guided you down the stairs, his hands finding their way over your eyes once you reached the bottom. "Okay, so I have a surprise for you."

"Mark," You murmured, feeling your heart skip a beat. Of _course_ he'd do something like this. You were an idiot for expecting anything else. "When can I look?"

Instead of answering, he placed his hand at the small of your back, guiding you forward. Once you'd traveled a few steps and narrowly avoided _multiple_ pieces of furniture, he slung an arm around your shoulder, hands falling free of your face. "Ta-da!"

Your breath caught in your throat. All of the lights on the bottom level of the house had been turned off, replaced with the luminescent glow of more candles than you were sure he'd owned, tucked into corners and placed skillfully on top of shelves and tables. The dining table had been decked out with party decorations, and from what you could see, he'd nestled a big cake into the center of the set-up. There were more candles there, too, only these were in the shape of the numbers '26' and tucked into the top layer of the cake. He'd strung streamers from wall to wall, and covered the floor in blow up balloons and confetti. He'd also tied small clusters of helium-filled balloons to the back of each chair.

He was watching your face intently. "Happy birthday, sweetheart." He said, pressing a soft kiss on your temple.

You didn't respond, too shocked to form any words. He'd done this? For you? The thought of him down here all those hours you'd been in your office, putting way too much thought into the placement of over a hundred candles and party decorations, made you choke up a little. You couldn't believe the effort he'd put into this. It brought tears to your eyes.

"Oh god," He wheezed, hands finding your shoulders. "Oh, baby, no. Please don't cry." He was kissing your cheeks, trying to cheer you up with a worried smile. "You hate it. Dammit, you hate it. I'm an idiot. I should've-"

"Mark," you whispered, looking up at him.

He looked at you with a panicked expression, hanging on your words as if what you said next might break or make him. "You _are_ an idiot," You said, wrapping your arms around his neck, " _My_ idiot. My adorable, thoughtful, doofy little idiot." Tears were pricking at your eyes, but none had successful made the fall onto your cheeks. "I can't believe you did this for me."

"Of course I did this for you." He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. Though you figured it was impossible by now, his grin grew. The happiness in his eyes as he gazed down at you was breathtaking. "Why didn't you tell me your birthday was coming up?"

You shrugged, placing a hand on his cheek. "I didn't think it was a big deal."

He let out a soft chuckle, leaning into your touch. "Babe, this is me we're talking about. Of _course_ it's a big deal." Suddenly, he used his grip on your waist to hoist you up, throwing you over his shoulders. "Off we go!"

"Mark!" You giggled, pounding gently on his back. "Put me down!"

"Patience, love. Patience." Finally, he set you down in the seat he'd pulled out, front and center of the cake. "Don't do anything yet. Let me get something."

Your eyes followed him as he moved, curious as to what he was doing. He rummaged through a cabinet by the stove for a second before pulling out a pack of candles, a proud smile on his face. When he returned, he sat next to you, finally letting you see what he was holding.

It was another set of numbers. 25. "I know that you missed your twenty fifth birthday, because of...well, you know." He smiled shyly, his words soft. "So I thought we'd celebrate both."

The tears finally escaped your eyes, falling hard and fast. "Dammit, Mark," You cursed, wiping at your cheeks. The look on his face made you laugh a little. "You're such a lovable idiot."

"Am I at least a _thoughtful,_ lovable idiot?" He beamed, looking like a child on Christmas.

You just nodded, leaning over and placing a soft kiss on his lips. When you pulled away, he went about opening the package, his deft fingers quickly freeing the candles and tucking them into the icing next to the other ones. After he'd thrown the package away, he brandished a lighter, igniting the little wicks on top of the four candles.

"Make a wish, pumpkin." Mark kissed the top of your head, hands resting gently on your shoulders.

You smiled, looking up at him. "I don't need to." With that, you blew out the candles, unaware of the fact that he'd pulled out his phone and begun taking pictures. You just giggled, gently shoving his shoulder and grabbing for the plates.

"Oh, wait." His hand stilled yours, placing the plates back down.

You raised a brow at him, your curiosity very evident on your face. "What?"

"I...um," He laughed, a sheepish smile making its way onto his face. "I have to sing to you first."

You sat back in your chair, crossing your arms. "You don't have to, Mark-moo. We could just eat."

He let out a nervous chuckle. "No...No, I want to. I'm not singing Happy Birthday, though." When you shot him a look, he quickly explained himself, "I've been...er...working on a song for you. I mean, I didn't _write_ it, but I've been learning how to play it, and I think I can sing it pretty decently, and-"

"Mark," You giggled, placing a hand on his arm, " _Breathe."_

He did as you said, a soft smile splitting his lips. "Okay, here goes. Don't judge me." With a chuckle, Mark pulled his guitar across his shoulder and into his lap, skillful fingers finding their way to the first note. "Do you love me?" The look he shot you made you giggle.

"Of course I do. Why?"

He grinned. "Just making sure." Suddenly, his fingers began to strum at the chords, creating a soft, happy tune that made your own smile grow. " _I wish I could do better by you cause that's what you deserve. You sacrifice so much of your life in order for this to work. While I'm off chasing my own dreams, sailing around the world, please, know that I'm yours to keep, my beautiful girl."_

You'd never heard the song before, but you could quickly tell that you liked it. His buttery voice blended well with his strumming, and you found your cheeks aching from the fact that he had you grinning like an idiot. His eyes were on yours, full and intense and so full of love that it made your chest swell.

_"When you cry, a piece of my heart dies, knowing that I may have been the cause. If you were to leave, fulfill someone else's dream, I think I might totally be lost. You don't ask for no diamond rings, no delicate string of pearls. That's why I wrote this song to sing my beautiful girl."_

He repeated the verses one more time, playing as though he'd been born knowing the song. When he was finally done, he set down the guitar, letting a shaky breath roll past his lips. 

You just sat there, watching him, trying your best to maintain a steady breathing pattern. After a few seconds of silence, he grinned, "I'll admit, that sounded pretty dope."

You giggled, rolling your eyes at his 'ego.' "It did sound pretty dope." Leaning forward, you placed a soft kiss on his lips, practically bouncing with happiness. "I love you so much, Mark."

He pulled your chair closer, his own grin blinding. "I love you even more." Placing a soft kiss on your nose, Mark beamed from ear to ear, finally seeming to get over his nerves. "Happy birthday, (Y/N)."

You smiled, kissing his nose right back. "The best one yet."


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is honestly just (not so) gratuitous smut

"You're such a doof," She murmured, soft giggles escaping her lips. Her fingers reached for him, wiping the bit of frosting he'd smeared across his lips off. "A messy doof, at that."

Mark just grinned, licking his lips. "What, you didn't like the look?" His grin took a devilish turn. "Aren't I just _delicious?"_

She made a soft noise, pink instantly splashing across her cheeks. "Well..." She murmured, squirming in her seat, "I...um-"

"Oh my god," Mark said, leaning forward. "You _actually_ think so, don't you?"

(Y/N) looked at him, eyes wide. Suddenly, her arms were around his neck, her face buried in his shoulder. "Don't say things like that." She murmured, but the tone of her voice betrayed her. As flustered as she was, Mark knew that she secretly enjoyed his childish innuendos and sideways glances. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, fingers finding their way into her hair, making soft strokes.

"I'll do my best," he responded, chuckling softly. His free hand gently pulled at the fabric of the shirt she was wearing, making her lean back. Her eyes found his, still wide and flustered. "It's difficult. You're just so damn cute in my shirt."

Another soft giggle escaped her lips. She looked down, her lips splitting into a giant grin at the sight of her current clothing choice. She was wearing his 'catiplier' shirt, which was so large on her that it brushed her thighs. Given, he may have ordered one that was too big for even _him_ on purpose, hoping that she'd wear it, but that was irrelevant information. "You think so?"

He pulled her closer by her waist, happy that she decided to settle in his lap. "I do," He murmured up at her, his smile full of adoration. "Very much so."

She giggled again. He loved that sound. "I'll have to wear it more often then."

Mark pressed his face against her collarbone, letting out a soft sigh. "Please do."

They sat there for a moment, her hugging his face to her chest, and him just relishing in the steady beat of her heart. She played mindfully with his hair, humming a soft tune that she knew he liked to hear. After a second, her humming stopped. "Mark?"

"Hmmm?" He mumbled, eyes closed.

"I'm ready."

Her words knocked the breath out of him. He sat up immediately, eyes quickly finding hers. "Y-you are?" He reached up with his hand, his fingers coming to rest softly against the skin of her cheek.

She leaned into his touch, smiling lovingly. "I am." She shifted forward in his lap, placing a soft kiss on his lips. "I'm ready."

"You're sure?" He forced her gaze to stay on his, wanting to be absolutely sure.

"One hundred percent." She placed another kiss on his lips, this one a little less soft. "I love you."

He felt as though his heart had leapt to his throat. "I love you too," He whispered, pressing his lips to hers. This kiss was greedily received, and before he had a chance to catch his breath, her grip on his hair had gotten more aggressive, sending shivers down his spine. His hands were tentative and cautious, scared to touch her in any place she might not warrant him to touch.

Suddenly, her hands were pulling his down to her waist, giving him a silent invitation to explore. One of his hands found her hair again, gently pulling her head back enough that he had full access to her lips. The other squeezed her hip, holding her firmly against his lap.

She tugged at his hair again, eliciting a low noise in the back of his throat. He could feel the smile on her lips, and he couldn't help but smile, too. Swiftly, he pulled her legs around his waist and stood, carefully balancing her in his arms. She hardly objected - her kisses grew more fierce, and he was losing his breath more quickly than he was able to catch it.

He carried her down the hallway, dodging candles and balloons on his way, and made quickly for the stairs. As much as he'd of thought carrying her up two flights of stairs would be a challenge, he was too wrapped up in the way her lips felt on his to notice. Within moments, he'd kicked open his bedroom door and shut it promptly with his foot, allowing her spine to reunite with the fabric of his sheets.

Her greedy hands pulled at the hem of his shirt, begging him to aid her in baring his skin. He did so quickly, tugging off the t-shirt and throwing it on the floor. He'd have done the same for her, but Mark wasn't about to test the waters. He'd let her take her own part in this at her own pace, and wherever that left him, he wouldn't object.

Mark shifted her so that she was sprawled on top of his comforter, her head resting delicately against his pillow. She watched him with wide, hungry eyes, her hands making trails up and down his bare chest. The feeling of her fingertips on his skin made him shiver, and he could think of nothing but that he never wanted her to stop. When he finally broke off the kiss, his lips quickly found their way to her jawline, familiarizing themselves with the curve of her neck and the crook of her shoulder, discovering-

"Mark?" Her voice was breathy and slightly strained, and so full of lust that he wouldn't have thought it was her under other circumstances.

He looked up, matching the intensity of her gaze with his own. "Yes, sweetheart?"

"Take it off." Her hands found his own, placing them greedily over the hem of her shirt. She wrapped his fingers around the fabric and pulled gently, eyes never leaving his. "Take it off."

When she repeated herself, he responded immediately, guiding the fabric up over her shoulders and to its new home on the floor. Much to his surprise, she wasn't wearing anything underneath, and with wide, hungry eyes, he took in every detail of her torso. He could tell by the way she squirmed that she was self-conscious, so he didn't stare too long, instead splitting the silence with a soft, "You're absolutely breathtaking."

Her cheeks flushed red once more, giving her a certain youthful look that drove him absolutely crazy. Mark kissed her again, his fingers making soft trails down her stomach. She responded with just as much affection, if not more, and with a groan he realized that she was raking her nails up and down his back.

It was a flurry of lustful kisses and scratches and nibbles later that he lost his pants, leaving them open to learn the curve of each other's hips. She only sported a pair of lace-y black underwear now, and he was wearing a generic pair of boxers, black with white grid print on them. Mark made trails across her hips and stomach with his lips, only able to resist short moments before returning to her mouth. He felt as though he were drunk, and each kiss sent him careening further over the edge.

Her thumbs looped into his boxers, tugging them in question. Mark quickly slid them off, finally baring himself completely. She almost immediately did the same, and he could tell by the look on her face that she was resisting the urge to hide herself.

He just grinned, coming to rest on top of her. "Like I said," He whispered against her lips, "Breathtaking."

"I'm ready, Mark," She murmured, both of her hands cupping his cheeks. The look on her face was so full of love and adoration that he felt his heart skip a few beats, trying to find a way to compensate for the momentous occasion.

He kissed her nose, his thumb making small rolls across her cheek. "And you're sure?"

She just nodded, smiling. Mark reached over her and rummaged through the drawer in his nightstand, pulling out a little silver wrapper. It only took a second or two to free the condom inside, and with a soft groan he slid it over his throbbing erection. She watched all of this with tentative eyes, her hips practically quivering in anticipation. Whether that anticipation was nervous or lustful, he wasn't sure.

As Mark positioned himself between her hips, he lifted his eyes to hers, a doofy grin finding its way onto his lips. "Please," He murmured, kissing her, "Tell me if you want me to stop. _Anything,_ okay? The second you feel uncomfortable."

She kissed him back, smiling. "Okay."

When he'd finally lined himself up and prepared himself, both of his hands twined with her own, grounding them in one of the most intimate ways. Ever so slowly, Mark pushed in, eyes on her face the entire time. The way her lips parted in a silent moan elicited a groan from deep within his throat; he had to admit, he _loved_ the way she looked underneath him.

"Y...You can move," She mumbled, squeezing his hands. He did as he was bid, beginning to move in and out, every thrust as gentle as the last.

Regardless of whether or not she needed it, Mark planned to be gentle. This was their first time together, and her birthday, and he wanted to savor every moment of it. Mark didn't want to remember this night as some lustful venture of rough touching and slurs. No, he wanted tender kisses and holding hands and loving giggles. He wanted to watch her face and swallow her moans and relish in the fact that he was absolutely in love with this woman. He wanted to relish the fact that she was finally ready to be with him.

As her moans grew a little less quiet, he picked up his pace just the slightest bit, pressing his forehead to her own. Her hands began to squeeze at his, and with a swift motion, he placed them on either side of her head, allowing him to press himself just a little closer. She whimpered his name, and when he looked down, concerned, she just giggled and shook her head.

It was a few moments of him picking up and slowing down his pace, finding that one spot that drove her absolutely insane, before the both of them began to lose it. As her breathy murmurs of his name grew more frequent, Mark could feel her squeezing around him, pushing his own climax even closer. With one final thrust, he buried himself as deep as he could inside of her, letting out a string of curses and breathy, butchered versions of her name. He realized after his vision had stopped fogging that she'd also spilled over the edge, collapsing underneath him in a small, adorable pile of sweat and flushed cheeks.

They took a moment to collect themselves, holding on to one another and trying their best to catch their breath. Finally, he felt her shift underneath him, and with a final groan, he pulled out of her and freed himself from the condom. After it was placed promptly into the trashcan beside his nightstand, he rolled back over, pulling her into his chest.

"I love you," He murmured down at her, kissing all over her face. "I love you," More kisses, "I love you," Even _more_ kisses, "I love you."

She giggled, trying her best to shrink away from his onslaught of affection. "Mark," she whined, her giggles growing. "Stop it, Mar-moo."

He grinned like an idiot, unable to smother the affection chuckle that was pulling at his throat. She joined in, returning one of his many kisses on the tip of his nose. "I love you too."

Mark pulled her closer, enjoying the way her body fit so perfectly into the crooks of his own. "Happy birthday," he whispered down at her, lips finding her shoulder.

She smiled, tilting her head so that she could gaze up at him. "Like I said," She murmured, letting her eyes fall closed. "It's the best one to date."


	20. Chapter 20

She was asleep when he woke up. She looked as breathtaking as she had the night before, only in a completely different way. Her hair was clinging to her cheek, and her eyelashes were tenderly brushing the tops of her cheeks. Her lips were parted slightly, and the entirety of her face was cast in little spots of sunlight, coming from the holes in the stitching of the blinds. She was inches from him, her bare back pressed to his chest, and her fingers clung to his arm around her torso as if it were a seat belt.

Mark smiled fondly, pressing a soft kiss to her cheekbone. She stirred ever so slightly, but didn't wake up, so he kissed her cheek again. A grin split his face as she finally rolled over, blinking groggily up at him. "What do you want?" She murmured, unable to hide the smile on her lips.

He grinned. "For you to brush your teeth."

Her hand swatted playfully at his arm, a soft giggle escaping her lips. "You're rude."

"You love me, though." He propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at her with much adoration on his face. "Don't you?"

"Of course I do, Mar-moo." She smiled, starting to kiss him, but stopped short a few centimeters from his lips. "Oh wait, you're disgusted by my bad breath."

He chuckled and forced the last few centimeters, swiftly stealing the kiss. "I never said _disgusted._ That's a bit dramatic."

She just laughed and rolled free of his arms, the blanket falling to reveal her naked form. He watched her fondly, studying the bare curve of her side as she stretched her arms above her head, hair cascading down in a way that sent shivers down his spine. In that position, she was bathed in sunlight, and her skin took on a glow that it didn't usually have. He could've looked at her like that for hours.

"I guess I'll brush my teeth, then." She looked at him over her shoulder, turning just enough that she could face him. When she remembered just how naked she was, a blush spread across her cheeks, but she didn't cover herself. He appreciated that. She looked down at her legs, frowning. "And shower."

Mark laughed, sitting up. His spine gave a satisfying pop as he stretched, pushing his hair up out of his eyes. "Mind if I join you?"

"Hold your horses there, pal." She laughed, standing. There came the shivers again. "I need to get _cleaner,_ not dirtier."

He smirked. "In more ways than one."

She tossed a piece of clothing from the floor at him. "Wipe that shit-eating grin off of your face, goofball."

He slid out of bed, chuckling under his breath. She was awfully fiesty this morning. It was kind of hot. As she head into the bathroom, Mark looked around for some boxers, patient enough to wait for her to get out before cleaning himself off. He scrapped the boxers for a pair of sweatpants, figuring he could just go commando until she was done. He was still technically _clothed._

Thankfully, after they'd cuddled a while last night, she'd helped him put all of the candles away and clean up, so there wasn't a huge mess waiting for him downstairs. Instead, there was a pile of dishes and a few balloons, but that was no biggie.

By the time he was finished, she was coming downstairs with wet hair and a smile on her face. She placed a soft kiss on his cheek and reached around him, grabbing a mug. "What a dear," She murmured, motioning to the sink.

"That I am." He kissed her lips and stepped out of her way, liking the sheepish smile on her lips when she noticed his bare chest. "I guess I'll go clean up."

"You really should," She cupped his cheek, a mock pout on her lips, "You're disgusting."

He laughed, kissing the inside of her palm. "Wow, you're so nice to me." He smiled at her giggle. "Like, seriously, not a day goes by without one of your endearing pep talks."

"Just keeping you humble." She winked, pouring herself some coffee. He'd made it before he'd started the dishes, and there was still enough left for both of them to have another cup. "Go shower, you doof."

He gave her butt a light pat as he passed her, earning himself a satisfying squeak. "I'll be thinking of you." He called down the hallway.

Her response made him chuckle. "Make sure to clean your 'thoughts' up!"

 

* * *

 

 

It was an hour before you decided to head back upstairs. Mark had been out of the shower for a while, but you'd been busy eating a bowl of cereal and checking your social media accounts. You weren't that into it, but you liked seeing the things his fans posted concerning the two of you. They were lovely, for the most part, and the amount of fanart you'd received via online _and_ in person warmed your heart.

"Baby?"

"In here!" Mark's recording room door was slightly cracked, and when you pushed it open, he smiled at you from his desk. "C'mere."

You did as you were told and padded closer, swiftly plopping down into his lap. On his screen was a video feed of a face you knew well. "Oh, hello." Mark shifted so that you were propped on his left leg, his arm wrapped securely around the back of your torso.

Jack smiled brightly at the camera, waving. "Hello, (Y/N)!"

"What are you two up to?" You glanced over at Mark, who had already been looking at you. He smiled fondly, directing his eyes back to the green-haired Irishman. You'd talked to Jack quite a bit by now, always via Skype and always with Mark, but the two of you had never met. He hadn't been able to make the conventions you'd gone to so far, and you hoped that you'd get to meet him at some point. He seemed like a nice guy, and he was one of Mark's best friends.

"Just planning." Mark said sweetly, kissing your shoulder.

Jack smiled, giving you a knowing look. "Seizing the future, ya know?"

"Planning what?" You rose a brow, looking at your boyfriend with a what-are-you-up-to expression on your face.

"What would you say about Jack coming to visit?" He asked, tilting his head curiously. You could tell by the hopeful expression on his face what he was praying you would say in response.

"I think it's a great idea." And you did. Mark hadn't gotten to see his friends much lately, and even though he talked to them almost every day, you wanted that for him. He needed to be around them again, and you were comfortable enough in your own skin these days to leave the house and engage with groups of people. "Would he be staying here?"

"That's what I was going to talk to you about."

You giggled, noticing the excited way Jack bounced in his seat. "I don't see why not. We have extra room." You glanced back to Mark, leaning forward to whisper into his ear.

His eyes brightened, and he grinned. "Why didn't I think of that? Hey, Jack!"

Jack's eyes snapped to the camera, wide and full of hope. "Yeah?"

"Why don't you bring Signe? That way you won't have to third-wheel, and she'll probably enjoy tagging along."

Jack grinned sheepishly, a nod rolling through his neck. "I'll ask her. She's been a bit busy lately, but I'm sure she'd love ta come. She loves visiting America."

Mark sat back in his chair, fingers threading through your own. "So it's settled then. In a month?"

"In a month." Jack smiled, running a few fingers through his neon hair. A groan slipped free of his throat, making you and Mark chuckle. "Now I have to prepare videos," He whined, shaking his head. "My flights better not get so screwed ta Hell this time."

"You just have shit luck." You grinned, shaking your head.

"So does yur boyfriend, lass." Jack smirked, propping his chin on his fists. "I'm going ta record now, but I'll talk to ya later. See ya!"

With that, he signed off, and Mark kissed the corner of your jaw. "I guess we better have a ton of sex while we're still alone then, huh?"

You giggled, pushing his chest and slipping out of his lap. "Don't push it."

 


	21. Chapter 21

"Baby?" There was a call from downstairs, barely catching your attention over the sound of music reverberating against your walls. "We're home!"

You set your sketchbook down and headed briskly for the hallway, excitement already pooling in your stomach. Mark had left for the airport a few hours ago to pick up Jack and Signe, and his return meant that they were here, right now. The excitement did not come alone, however - you were nervous, more nervous than you'd been in a while. Even though your pill cocktail had slowly started decreasing in the last year, it didn't keep small episodes of anxiety from rearing its ugly head every now and then. Your main contender for panic? Meeting new people that Mark was already well acquainted with. Truly, you just wanted them to like you. These two in particular.

"Coming!" You wiped your palms on your pajama pants and started down the stairs, loving the way the scent of freshly baked cookies was already filling the bottom floor. You'd put them in the oven a bit ago, and by the looks of it, they still had a couple of minutes. Perfect timing.

As you came around the bend of the hallway, you spotted the three already settling into the living room. Though you _knew_ who the two strangers were, you couldn't confidently say you would've recognized them in a crowd. Besides Jack's bright green hair, of course.

"How was your flight?" You asked sweetly, sliding past them to get into the kitchen.

Signe turned then, and you were shocked by how pretty she was in person. _Wow, Jack, nice one,_ you thought, a knowing smile etched onto your face. "It was fine, a bit long." She smiled, setting aside her luggage and following you into the kitchen. "It's so nice to finally meet you in person."

You grinned, sliding into her open arms for a hug. "You too." As she released you, you quickly made for the oven, catching the timer right as it hit one second. "I made some cookies, I figured you two would be a little hungry."

"Just a little." She leaned against the counter, watching you work with a smile on her face. She had a very pretty smile, and you couldn't help but wonder how she'd met Jack. Then again, you were sure that his boyish charm and her friendly presence went very well together. "What kind of cookies?"

"Plain chocolate chip." You chuckled. "I wasn't sure what kind you liked, so I figured going generic was a safe bet. I made them extra large for Jack over there."

"Sean does love his cookies." She giggled, helping you organize the cookies onto a plate. "Thank you, for making these."

"Of course." You smiled over at her and set the tray in the sink, opting to wash it in a bit, after everyone was settled in. You were already quite fond of her gentle words and warm smiles, and you could tell that the two of you would get along just fine. Not that you'd expected otherwise.

"Oh, ya made cookies!" Jack's excited voice boomed from the doorway, catching you by surprise. As you turned, he rushed forward, scooping you up into a hug. "(Y/N)! Lovely ta finally meet ya!"

You laughed, shooting Mark a look over his shoulder, and wrapped your arms around him. "You too, Jack. Oh," You smiled sheepishly, stepping away, "Is Jack alright? Or would you rather I call you-"

"Jack is fine." He smiled, taking his place by Signe's side.

Mark stepped forward then, his hand snaking its way around your waist. He drew you close, the scent of his aftershave washing over you like a candle you'd burned half a hundred times. He kissed your temple, smiling affectionately down at you. "I see you decided to bribe him with cookies."

"I figured it was the best way to his heart," You said sheepishly, shoving the plate towards him.

"That would be correct!" He chirped happily, scooping up a cookie and taking a bite, blissfully unaware of the fire he'd just put inside of his mouth. The change was visible on his face, and the three of you watched with a mixture of horror and humor as he tried his best to swallow before it seared a hole in his tongue. "Why didn't you tell me they were so hot!" He mumbled, panting.

"You watched her take them out of the oven, dingus," Signe mumbled, laughing. She wrapped an arm around Jack's shoulders, trying her best to console her wheezing boyfriend.

"Well done," Mark teased, "You've already hurt him and he's been here all of two minutes."

You smiled, leaning a little more into Mark's side. "I'm sorry, Jack, I should've warned you."

"It's okay," He responded, voice slightly muffled by his inflamed tongue.

Signe turned to the two of you then, a smile still present. "Mind showing us to our rooms? Hopefully unpacking will give the cookies enough time to cool before he tries to scarf them down again."

Jack laughed sullenly, giving in to his embarrassment. Mark, also chuckling, motioned for them to follow him and kissed your cheek, murmuring, "I'll be right back."

"Okay," You replied, deciding now was as good a time as ever to wash that dreaded pan. The mixing bowls and utensils, too. God, did you hate the dishes.

As they disappeared upstairs, you couldn't help but smile at how refreshingly pleasant the two of them were. You'd been so gut-wrenchingly nervous about their arrival, and in mere minutes, those nerves had dissipated. Both Signe and Jack seemed happy to meet you, and you hadn't seen a single sign of sympathy or distance in their greetings. You knew full and well that they were in on your backstory, and it was a recurring pattern with Mark's acquaintances to treat you like a fragile dove, but not with these two. They greeted you as they greeted Mark: like an old friend that they'd been looking forward to seeing.

A giddy smile pulled at your lips as you rinsed the soapy dish in the sink, and for once, you felt a lovely sense of peace in the presence of almost-strangers.


End file.
